


Protect Your Magic

by cgmaknae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 62,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgmaknae/pseuds/cgmaknae
Summary: I've always had a soft spot for book Draco Malfoy and even his movie version but I was very disappointed with how the movies portrayed his character. I always wanted him to have someone that was truly his friend, someone to show him that not all Slytherins are evil.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So these are some things I want you to know about the female OC before you read :  
> * Ophelia A Rose  
> * Lives with the Weasley's (since her parents died when she was 7) 
> 
> I wanted to try and use a very limited amount of dialogue tags but if that makes things confusing please let me know!

"RONALD WEASLEY GET UP RIGHT NOW!" I yelled as I slammed open the door to Ron's shared bedroom. 

"Bloody hell what time is it?" Ron groaned rubbing his eyes. 

"It's past five in the afternoon, Ron! We're late getting Harry!" I screeched back pulling the blankets completely off of his bed. 

"Your need to be on time is killing me, I'm sure Harry is fine," Ron said getting up. 

"It's not about that you git and If Hermione was here you'd be in even worse trouble and you know it," I said heading back to the door. "We're going without you so you better hurry up"  
I walked out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen where Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley were waiting. Upon seeing me Mr. Weasley stepped into the fireplace and yelled "Harry's House". 

"Me next," Fred said following after his father. 

"Go ahead Ophelia, lady's first." George cooed. I rolled my eyes in response and stepped into the fireplace. 

"Harry's House!" I spoke clearly. 

"Ouch! Ophelia, no... go back and tell George not to come." Fred groaned from underneath me. 

"What in the-" George now joined us in the cramped space. 

"There's been some kind of mistake - there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron." Mr. Weasley huffed most likely from the weight of George. 

"Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe he'll be able to let us out," George suggested.  
With this thought in mind, the four of us began banging on the hard surface in front of us. 

"Harry? Can you hear us?" Mr. Weasley shouted out. 

"Harry, if you can hear us you better respond!" I added. 

" Mr. Weasley, it's Harry... the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there." 

"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley "what on earth did they want to clock up the fireplace for?" 

"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained. 

"Really?" Mr. Weasley said excitedly. "Electric you say? with a plug? gracious, I must see that... let's think... ouch, Ron!"

"Ron!" George groaned. 

"What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?" Ron questioned. 

"Oh no, Ron," Fred started sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to be." 

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," added George in a very muffled voice. 

"Boys, boys settle down." Mr. Weasley directed. "Harry, stand back I know what to do." 

"Wait a moment-" A man's voice barely reached us before being cut off by a loud BANG.  
What I could now identify as a very small odd-looking fire thing was sent flying across the room and the five of us toppled out of the cramped area. I quickly got to my feet and began dusting my clothes off and smoothing my hair down. 

"Hello, Harry," I said taking in the small living room we were all standing in. "Um, are they okay?" 

"They don't like magic, they think we're freaks," Ron answered also taking in the Dursleys looks of terror. 

"What a shame, good thing we're getting you out of here then." I smiled at Harry and patted him on the shoulder. 

"Ah- you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!" Mr. Weasley boomed and moved toward Harry's uncle, his hand outstretched, but Mr. Dersley backed away dragging his wife with him. The man was considerably boring to look at, wearing an ugly black suit covered in the white dust that matched his dust-covered hair and little mustache. 

"Wasn't that just rude," I commented drawing Mr. Dersley's attention though he quickly went back to staring at Mr. Weasley. 

"Er - yes - sorry about that," said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the based fireplace. "It's all my fault. t just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out the other end."  
Mr. Weasley went on to explain how he had to connect them to the Floo Network for this and that he's not supposed to but it was clear they didn't understand a word of what he was saying. They were just gaping at Mr. Weasley, clearly thunderstruck.  
"Hello, Harry!" Mr. Weasley turned his attention to Harry beaming brightly at him. "Got your trunk ready?" 

"it's upstairs," said Harry, grinning back. 

"We'll get it," Fred quickly volunteered himself and his twin. With a wink in Harry's direction, the twin were out of the room and after Harry's trunk. 

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very -erm - a very nice place you've got here."  
I again surveyed the living room in which was covered in dust and bits of brick from our earlier entrance. Mr. Weasley was also looking around. He loved everything to do with muggles and he was itching to go and examine every odd object within the room. After what felt like hours of Mr. Weasley attempting to make conversation with the Dursleys a very large boy around mine, Harry, and Ron's age suddenly appeared in the room and attempted to hide behind Mr. Dursley. This was entirely laughable because while Mr. Dersley was large he was nowhere near large enough to hide this boy. 

"Ah, this your cousin, is it, Harry?" Asked Mr. Weasley. 

"Yep," said Harry, "that's Dudley." 

"PFFT! That's Dudley? Bloody hell he's bigger than Crabbe! No wonder Hagrid saw it fit for him to have a pig's tail!" I laughed.  
At my comment, Harry and Ron bit back laugher while Mr. Dursey's face grew purple and Mrs. Dursley looked like she wanted to yell at me. Dudley was clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off reminiscing on the night he received the little tail. 

"Ophelia." Mr. Wealsey said sternly. 

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley." I sighed.  
Finally, Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and upon seeing Dudley their faces cracked into identical evil grins. 

"Alright." Said Mr. Weasley. "Better get cracking."  
He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. In response to this, the Dursleys drew back against the wall as one. 

"Incendio!" said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.  
Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned a beautiful shade of emerald green and roared even higher.  
"Off you go then, Fred." 

"Coming," Fred answered. "Oh no - hang on -"  
A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then walked right into the fire, saying "the Burrow!" There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished. I made note of the single piece of toffee Fred "failed" to collect and just as Fred had hoped, so did Dudley. 

"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley, "you and the trunk."  
Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too. 

"Ron, Ophelia, you next." Mr. Weasley instructed. I reluctantly followed Ron to the hole and stepped into the flames. 

"See you," Ron said brightly.  
I gave a slight wave and nodded at Ron we both shouted "the Burrow!" We began spinning very fast and I closed my eyes to prevent sickness. We tucked our elbows tightly to our sides and when we finally felt like we were slowing down we threw our hands out and came to a stop. I opened my eyes and was met with Fred's face, a happy grin adorned his face. 

"Freddie, the toffee you left, was it the Ton- Tongue Toffee?" I questioned excitedly. 

"You know it, Rosie." He responded triumphantly.  
The twins had been working on them for months and needed someone to test them out on. Of course, I had volunteered but in the end, the three of us concluded it'd be far more entertaining to test it out on someone who had no idea what the creation was, someone unsuspecting. 

"Such a shame we can't watch him eat it though." I sighed. 

"There's my favorite Slytherin." Bill grinned up at me from the kitchen table. 

"Bill!" I exclaimed running over and giving him a big hug. If I wasn't so happy to see him I would've pointed out that he doesn't associate with enough Slytherins for his statement to be a compliment. Bill isn't home often, but he's been a huge influence on me since even before I moved in with the Weasleys. He works at the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and had been head boy at Hogwarts back in 1989. He's tall, with long hair that he keeps tied back in a ponytail and always wears an earring with a fang hanging from it. He's the reason I'm working so hard in Hogwarts and the\\\ reason for my magical wardrobe. 

"How're you, kid? Charlie asked ruffling my hair. 

"Charlie I'm the same age as Ron," I whined. 

"I know and Ron's a kid too." He responded.  
Charlie is another Weasley that I look up to, he works with dragons in Romania and is very kind. He has a broad, good-natured face, which is wether-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it. 

"Did he eat it??" I heard Fred's excited voice from behind me.  
I turned around and saw Fred helping Harry out of the fireplace. 

"Yeah," said Harry, straightening up. "What was it?" 

"Ton- Tongue Toffee," Fred said happily. "George and I have been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."  
All of us had a good laugh before Charlie and Bill greeted Harry. Before anyone could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder, he looked furious. 

"That wasn't funny Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that muggle boy?" 

"I didn't give him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it... it was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to. " 

"You dropped it on purpose!" roared Mr. Weasley. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -" 

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly. 

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"  
The entire room erupted in laughter and I high-fived the twins proud that their invention worked how they wanted it to. 

"It isn't funny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of muggles, and my own sons!" 

"We didn't give it to him because he's a muggle!" said Fred indignantly. 

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. "Isn't he, Harry?" 

"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," said Harry earnestly. 

"That's not the point!" raged Mr. Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother-" 

"Tell me what?" Mrs. Weasley's voice came from behind Mr. Weasley.  
She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion. 

"Oh hello, Harry dear," she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"  
Mr. Weasley hesitated. Despite what he had threatened or how angry he was, he never truly intended to tell Mr.s Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, was mine, Harry, and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, was the youngest of the Weasleys and the only girl, Ginny. They both smiled at Harry and as soon as he smiled back Ginny went red while Hermione turned to me. There are very few people in this world that I will hug and Hermione is one of those people. She engulfed me in a huge hug something she could do quite successfully since I was shorter than her by about an inch. 

"Are you okay?" She whispered to me immediately pulling back to see my response and survey my body for any damage.  
I nodded and rolled my eyes at her. I've recently returned from a secret two-week trip that only she knew about I had told the Weasleys that I was staying with her so as not to raise suspicion. When I sent her a letter informing her that I did indeed make it home safe she informed me that she would be searching for any evidence that I was harmed. 

"Tell me what, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.  
At this Hermione turned her attention back to Mrs. Weasley. 

"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr. Weasley, "Fred and George just - but I've had words with them-" 

"What have they done this time?" said Mrs. Weasley. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes-" 

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione pulling me away from the kitchen. 

"He knows where he's sleeping," said Ron, "in my room, he slept there last -" 

"We can all go," said Hermione pointedly. 

"Oh," said Ron, catching on. "Right." 

"But Hermione I don't wanna go," I whispered. I love watching Mrs. Weasley get mad it's so entertaining but Hermione just ignored me. 

"Yeah, we'll come too," said George. 

"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs. Weasley  
Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, joined me, Hermione and Ginny. WE set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories. I, of course, went reluctantly and complained the entire way up. As we reached the second landing Percy's door rapidly opened and he poked his head out clearly annoyed. 

"Hi, Percy," said Harry. 

"Oh hello, Harry," said Percy. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs." 

"We're not thundering," said Ron irritably. "We're walking. Sorry if we've distributed the top-secret working of the Ministry of Magic." 

"What are you working on?" Harry asked causing me to groan.  
Percy has been no-stop talking about his stupid report ever since he got the assignment. 

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -" 

"Oh boy, it just gets more and more riveting each time you explain it," I said sarcastically. 

"Fron page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks," Ron added. 

"You might sneer." Percy said heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with family, shallow-bottomed products that seriously-" 

"Yeah, yeah we get it." I groaned. Thankful Ron was on the same page as ma and started up the stairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As we all moved up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to them.  
"I absolutely cannot believe you're dragging me upstairs when I could be down there watching it all first hand," I complained. "That's topnotch entertainment right there." 

"Oh quit complaining," Hermione answered as we all entered Ron's room that he would be sharing with the twins seeing as Percy and Charlie will need their rooms. I stood near the door and half-listened to the conversation between Hermione, Ron, and Harry and the screaming from Mrs. Weasley until finally, the yelling stopped. We all made out way back down the stairs again and into the kitchen. 

"Such a waste of time, that was," I complained walking up to Mrs. Weasley and grabbing a stack of twelve plates.  
Every time we have this many people in the house we eat outside so I promptly headed to the backyard with the plates to help set up. 

"Alright, Charlie let's move the tables," Bill said taking out his wand and pointing it at one of the tables.  
Charlie followed Bill's lead both tables were high above the lawn. I saw Charlie smirk before smashing his table into Bill's ultimately starting a war between the two. I joined Fred and Geroge in cheering the two older Weasleys on, while Ginny couldn't stop laughing. Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and we all looked up to see Percy's head poking out the window on the second floor. 

"will you keep it down?! he bellowed. 

"Sorry, Perce," Bill said grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?" 

"Very badly," Percy said peevishly, and he slammed the window shut.  
Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths. 

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Wealsy's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms, in the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which was nothing new. 

"... with a horrible great fang on it. Bill, what do they say at the bank?" 

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," Bill responded patiently. 

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," Mrs. Weasley added, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..." 

"What no, Mrs. Weasley, Bill's hair is a part of what makes him who he is, and besides it fits him quite nicely." I protested. 

"Yeah, I like it too," Ginny added from her spot beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum." 

Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup. I conversation that I would be involving myself in were I a bit closer to them. Mr. Weasly conjured up candles to light the quickly darkening garden before we ate homemade strawberry ice cream. As I was eating my dessert and watching the mostly happy conversations going on around the table I couldn't help feel a bit sad. This is the type of dinner I want Draco to experience, an atmosphere that despite his unfounded opinions of the Weasleys I think he'd rather enjoy. Dinner with the Malfoys was always so propper and dreary the only topics of conversation being unbelievable boring. 

"So, have you heard from Sirius lately?" Ron whispered loud enough for me, Hermione, and Harry to hear but quiet enough that Ginny couldn't. 

"Yeah." Harry responded softly, "twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here."  
I could tell Hermione wanted to ask a question but before she could Mrs. Weasey spoke. 

"Look at the time! You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you! You'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup!" 

"I'll help you clean up before I turn in," I said getting out of my seat. 

"Oh no dear no need you really should head to bed." Mrs. Weasley protested. "And Harry, leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. There might not be time after the World Cup." 

Everyone went to their respective rooms after our normal before-bed rituals. Hermione joined Ginny and me in our room. Thankfully sleep came to me quickly so unlike everyone else I was quite refreshed and ready to go when Mrs. Weasley woke us up a few hours later. I was the first one up other than Mr. and Mrs. Weasly of course, and I did indeed take advantage of this. Due to security reasons and the secrecy of magic, all witches and wizards were instructed to wear muggle clothing, this was no trouble for me. I think muggle fashion is quite curious and my closet is composed of quite a few outfits. Since we would be traveling I oped for a pair of what I just recently learned are called cargo pants obviously in the color green. To go with the pants I put on a black shirt that I tucked in and a pair of black sneakers. I packed a second outfit that Narssica Malfoy had bought for me that I would change into before the World Cup. I tied my hair back in the same way that Bill does and put in identical earrings to his one before making my way downstairs. I entered the kitchen to see Mrs. Weasley stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. Mr. Weasley was wearing an odd sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him, and held up with a thick leather belt. 

" Mr. Weasley our belts match." I pointed out." well mines not so thick but they're the same color and material." 

"Well look at that!" Mr. Weasley said happily. "Oh, boys good morning... what do you think? Ophelia and I match a little."  
I could tell he was a little anxious for the boys' response though my comment made him feel a little better. 

"You look just like a muggle," Harry responded. 

"Where's Bill and charlie and Per- Per- Percy?" George asked, failing to stifle a huge yawn. 

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" Mrs. Weasley questioned, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in." 

"So they're still in bed?" Fred questioned grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. "Why can't we Apparate too??" 

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "And where have those girls got to?"  
She bustled out of the kitchen and we could all hear her climbing the stairs. I focused on eating my porridge as the boys explained to Harry why all wizards and witches had to first pass a test before they were allowed to Apparate. After about five minutes there were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy. 

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny questioned rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table. 

"We've got a bit of a walk, " Mr. Weasley responded. 

"Walk?" Harry asked. "Are we walking to the World Cup?" 

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley answered. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting muggle attention..." 

"George!!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply causing nearly everyone to jump. 

"What?" George questioned, in an innocent tone that most certainly deceived no one. 

"What is that in your pocket?" 

"Nothing!" 

"Don't you lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"  
several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped fright into Mrs. WEsley's outstretched hand.  
"We told you to destroy them!!" Mrs. Weasley yelled furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton- Tongue Toffees. "we told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!" 

The boys emptied their pockets but Mrs. Weasley was no convinced repeated over and over "Accio! Accio! Accio!" and offers flew out of all kinds of places on the boys. Mrs. Weasley was like a mother to me but there was no way I was going to let all of the hard work the twins put into those toffees go to waste so as they were flying threw the air I caught a few on my way to wash my bowl. 

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted as Mrs. Weasly threw what she had collected into the bin. 

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"  
I pocketed the four candies I was able to get and joined everyone at the door. The atmosphere was not very friendly as we took out departure. Mrs. Wealsey was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her. We walked out of the house began walking away from the Burrow.  
"Well, have a lovely time," shouted Mrs. Weasley, "and behave yourselves" 

"Don't worry about us Mrs. Weasley!" I shouted back. 

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. I felt that we were finally far enough from the Burro for me to give the twins the candies so I stopped walking and waited for them to catch up to me. 

"ehrm." I cleared my throat and tossed the toffees two in each hand so I could give them to them at the same time. Without thinking they both quickly caught them. 

"Rosie, Rosie you really outdid yourself this time." Fred grinned. They both held their hands out for high-fives. 

"You're the best Rosie, really," George added. 

"Oh, I know," I said happily as we continued to walk with slightly behind the others.  
We trudged down a dark, dank lane toward the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. The air was quite cold and I could not have been happier that I had a coat with me. We began to climb Stoatshead Hill, a few of us stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, or slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath I took was sharp in my chest and my legs began to ache when, at last, the ground turned level. 

"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes."  
Hermione was the last of us to come over the hill. clutching her side and breathing heavily. 

"Yay!" I clapped for her and she gave me a look that yelled 'i'll kill you right here'. 

"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr. Weasley huffed, squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big... come on..."  
We all spread out, searching. We had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout broke the still air. 

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it."  
Two tall figures were silhouettes against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop I squinted trying to make out who the two people were. 

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted.  
Amos... as in Amos Diggory? 

"Cedric!!" I yelled running past Mr. Weasley and straight to Cedric. 

"I knew you'd make it Little O." Cedric grinned holding out his hand horizontally. 

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world, Ced." I smiled and hit our palms together, then the backs of our hands. We made fists and hit from the bottom then to and then a fist bump and finally we hit our shoulders together finishing up our handshake. 

"I can't believe you two are still doing that ridiculous handshake." Amos laughed at us. 

"It's tradition, Mr. Diggory!" I stated. 

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said once everyone caught up with us. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric."  
Cedric Diggory is an extremely handsome boy of seventeen. He is Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team and my very first friend. 

"Hi," Cedric said looking around at everyone.  
They all said hi back except for Fred and George, who merely nodded. They're still upset with Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of our previous year. 

"All these yours, Arthur?" Amos asked. 

"Oh no, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley responded, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, a friend of Ron's and Ophelia's - and Harry another friend." 

"Merlin's Beard," Amos said, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?" 

"Er - yeah," Harry answered. 

"Ced's talked about you, of course," Amos said. "Told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... you beat Harry Potter!"  
Harry clearly not knowing how to respond just stayed quiet while Fred and George started their scowling again. I looked up at Cedri who was clearly embarrassed, he was never too fond of his father's bragging. 

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... it was an accident..." 

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!" 

"Actually, Harry fell off his broom because of dementors that wandered too close to the match and attempted to take Harry's soul," I explained in a matter-of-fact voice. "Though of course, I agree that Ced is a fantastic seeker and flier"  
I have never understood how Amos Diggory got sorted into Hufflepuff with that horrible attitude of his. 

"Well, it must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley interjected, pulling out his watch. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?" 

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and Faecetts couldn't get tickets," Amos responded. "There aren't any of us in this area, are there?" 

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley answered. "Yes, it's a minute off... we'd better get ready..." He looked around at Harry and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do-" 

With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. 

"Three..." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch. "two... one..."  
It happened Immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground; I could feel Cedric and Hermione on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; my finger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and just as Cedric had taught me I began moving my legs as though I was riding a bike. This only being my second time using a Portkey my landing was quite rocky and I still ended up falling on the ground. Cedric quickly helped me to my feet while still trying to catch his breath. 

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," A voice spoke.  
We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a late gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as muggles, though from the look on Harry's face very inexpertly. 

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, picking up the boot and handing it to one of the wizards, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him. 

"Hello there Arthur," Basil responded wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... we've been here all night... you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley" He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts.mDiggory... the second field... ask for Mr. Payne." 

"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.  
We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. 

"Goodbye Ced," I frowned at him. 

"Bye Little O," He said solemnly "see you later."  
We parted ways with them and approached the cottage door. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us. 

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly. 

"Morning." The muggle said. 

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?" Mr. Weasley asked. 

"Aye, I would," he responded, "And who're you?" 

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago." 

"Aye," Mr. Roberts said, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got space up by the wood there. Just the one night?" 

"That's it," Mr. Weasley confirmed. 

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts questioned. 

"Ah - right - certainly -" Mr. Weasley answered. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him.  
From my place next to Hermione, I couldn't hear their hushed conversation but it was quite obvious that Mr. Weasley needed Harry's help with the muggle money. Taking advantage of everyone's attention on Mr. Weasley and Mr. Roberts Hermione pulled me away from the group. 

"Okay, spill how was it???" Hermione questioned in a slight whisper. 

"It was okay. There's not much to tell you really, besides what I said in my letters," I answered.  
This, of course, was a lie, so much happened over just a two week period it's bloody crazy but I don't think she would understand if I told her everything. 

"You're lying." She said narrowing her eyes at me. 

"You're only saying that because I'm a Slytherin... I get it if you don't trust me. I'm sorry." I spoke in a voice of fake sadness. 

"What, that's not why. I didn't mean it like that." Hermione tried to explain herself. 

"Girls, let's get going." Mr. Weasley called after us.  
We caught up with the group and trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as muggle-like as possible but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I almost found it laughable. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on we passed a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain. 

"Weren't we supposed to be inconspicuous?" I questioned. 

"Always the same," Mr. Weasley began, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."  
We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, where there was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.  
"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! shouldn't be too difficult... muggles do it all the time, here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?" 

Harry's face told me he'd never been camping in his life, so Hermione and I stepped up and began working on putting the tent up. We worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of shabby-looking tents. To any muggle, the tents would look like little two-man tents but the Weasleys and I knew that these tents could, in fact, hold our entire party. Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent. 

"We'll be a bit cramped," He called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."  
I went into the tent next followed by Hermione and the boys. The ten was similar to an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with a bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

"Ron! Get out of the kitchen!" Hermione scolded him. I couldn't help but laugh Ron has been eating so much lately he practically lives in the kitchen at home. 

"We'll need water." Mr. Weasley commented, picking up a dusty kettle and peering into it. 

"There's a tap marked on this map the muggle gave us," Ron said holding up the map. 

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Ophelia go and get us some water then" Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire." 

"But we've got an oven," Ron complained. "Why can't we just-" 

"Ron, anti-muggle security!" Mr. Weasley said, his face shining with anticipation. "When real muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"  
After a quick tour of the tent us girls would be staying in which was slightly smaller and lacked the smell of cats, we set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, taking everything in. Campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent. 

"Hoe many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand- yecch!"  
She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. I couldn't help but giggle as she continued to scold him as he yelled "You bust slug! You bust slug!" 

"Er- is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" Ron asked. 

"That would be the pride of true Irish fans." I beamed.  
We had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we all heard someone yell. 

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!" I turned to see that the voice belonged to Seamus Finnigan. A fourth-year Gryffindor who did not like a single Slytherin in existence.  
He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and Deam Thomas, also a Gryffindor. I stood in silence as the five of them chatted until finally, Harry suggested we move elsewhere. We headed in the direction of a Bulgarian flag that was fluttering in the breeze. The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. 

"Ugh, Krum." I rolled my eyes at his scowling face. 

"What?" Hermione asked. 

"Krum!" Ron answered obviously offended by Hermione's lack of knowledge, "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!" 

"He looks really grumpy," Hermione said, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us. 

"That's because he's spoiled," I grumbled. Krum was indeed an amazing seeker but I would never let Ron hear me say that nor would I let anyone question my Irish pride. 

"Who cares about that?" Ron raised his eyebrows. "He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see." 

"What Hermione will see is the Bulgarians getting their asses beat by the Irish." I corrected.  
Ron just scowled at me as we reached the line for the tap. We joined the line right behind two men having a very heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation. 

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious.-" 

"I bought this in a muggle shop." the old wizard said stubbornly. "Muggles wear them." 

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these." the Ministry wizard said holding up the trousers. 

"I'm not putting them on," Archie stated again. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."  
At this statement, both Hermione and I busted out laughing and opted to excuse ourselves so as not to be impolite to Archie. We stood out off to the side some ways away and didn't return to our place in line until Archie had collected his water and left our line of sight. Water in tow, we made out way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. I had a conversation with a few younger Slytherin students while Harry was meeting a former Gryffindor Quidditch captain's family. When we were finally done we continued heading towards the camp thankfully with no more hindrances.

"You've been ages," George complained when we finally got back to the tents. 

"Well you know we were traveling with a celebrity," I answered earning a laugh from both the twins. 

"You've not got that fire started yet?" Ron questioned.

"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred answered.  
Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life. 

"Oops!" He said as he managed to light a match and promptly drop it in surprise. 

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.  
Finally, we got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however, their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; the Weasleys and I knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested. At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percey came strolling out of the woods toward us. 

"Just Apparated, Dad." said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!" 

Most of us were halfway through with our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us. 

"Aha!" He said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"  
Ludo Bagman was was easily the most noticeable person I'd seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily.  
He was walking as though he had strings attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.  
"Arthur, old man," He puffed as he reached our campfire "what a day, eh? what a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming... and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements... Not much for me to do!" 

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air. Percyhurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression. 

"Ah - yes," Mr. Weasley said, grinning. "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter Ginny, Ophelia, and their friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter." 

Bagman did the smallest of a double-take when he heard Harry's name, as most people do, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead. 

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets- -"  
Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" He asked eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match." 

"Oh... go on then," Mr. Weasley said. "let's see... a Galleon on Ireland to win?" 

"A Galleon?" Ludo looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well... any other takers?" 

"They're a bit young to be gambling-" Mr. Weasley tried 

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred said as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand." 

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wad was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter. 

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"  
Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval and I pushed him lightly out of the way. 

"I'll add forty-five Galleons to their bet if you but in twenty more Galleons," I stated, pulling out the money I prepared for the event. 

"Oh excellent, I'll add twenty Galleons," Ludo responded pocketing the money I gave him. 

"I don't want you betting... molly..." Mr. Weasley began under his breath. 

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo boomed rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the snitch? Not a chance, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds on that one..."  
Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names and mine. 

"Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley. I returned back to the fire to comfortably listen to the conversation between Ludo Bagman and Mr. Weasley, though I didn't truly listen until Bagman pointed out Barty Crouch. 

"Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"  
A wizard had just Apparated at the fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. I could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about muggle dressing so thoroughly that one would never guess he was a wizard. He began conversing with Ludo about a few World Cup complaints until Percy interjected. 

" Mr. Crouch!" he said breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "would you like a cup of tea?" 

"Oh," Mr. Crouch responded, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."  
I couldn't help but inhale my tea with a choked laugh at Mr. Crouch's answer. I looked over at the twin who were both sharing a similar fit of laughter as I, though they luckily had not choked on their teas. I watched Percy, very pink around the ears, busy himself with the kettle. The conversation between Bagman, Crouch, and Mr. Weasley was nothing short of boring but never the less I quietly listened until finally Mr. Crouch opted to leave dragging Ludo Bagman with him.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred asked, referring to something Ludo had brought up. "What were they talking about?" 

"You'll find out soon enough." Mr. Weasley answered, smiling. 

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," Percy said stiffly, "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it." 

"Oh shut up, Weatherby." Fred mocked, making me laugh. 

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere. Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. 

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron commented as we strolled through the salesmen buying souvenirs. I purchased a large green rosette and dancing shamrock hat, Ron bought the same things I did plus a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. 

"Wow, look at these!" Harry said, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials. 

"Omnioculars," the sales wizard said eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."/p>

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, mine, and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"

"Thanks." I said quietly.  
Our money bags considerably lighter, we went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold. A deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.  
  
"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

Clutching out purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; I couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though I could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, I could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again ...bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked our tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. Our party kept climbing, and at last we reached the top of the staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and I, filing into the front seats with the rest of our group, looked down upon a scene the likes of which I could never have imagined I'd see in person. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at our eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, I saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field. My eyes darted around the stadium taking in the truly magnificent scene in front of me. 

"Dobby?" I Heard Harry ask from beside Ron. Quickly I followed Harry's eyes to a little house elf sitting in one of the seats above us it was not Dobby. 

""Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and I suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf - that this one might just be female.  
I never got to meet Dobby personally but I did hear him speak when he was in Dumbledore's office with Harry and Mr. Malfoy. 

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."  
  
"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"  
  
"Yeah, I am," said Harry.  
  
"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.  
I turned away this conversation did not interest me nor was a part of it. A wizard with a sales cart caught my attention and I was immediately reminded that Fred and George were the only ones not wearing team memorabilia due to lack of money. I quickly got up and followed the man out of the box. 

"Sir, please wait!" I called after him. 

"Sorry kid I didn't see you." He apologized and held out his arms, "What would you like?" 

"Can I get two Shamrock hats please." I said handing him the money. 

"Enjoy the game." He answered handing me the hats.  
I gripped them both tightly and turned to head back to the box we were in. I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of the back of Draco Malfoy's head, in front of him was his father talking to Mr. Fudge and Mr. Weasley. 

"Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest." Fudge explained. 

"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, It's so nice to see you here." I smiled as I entered the box. 

"Oh, Ophelia dear I wasn't aware of you being here." Mrs. Malfoy answered a pleased look crossing her face as she looked at the dress she had bought me. 

"Ah yes well Mr. Bagman invited the Weasley's here as his guests." I explained. 

"I see." She answered as Mr. Malfoy urged his family to take their seats.  
My relationship with the Malfoys was a very complicated one, they do not like the Weasleys and the feeling is more than mutual. The Malfoys know I live with the Weasleys, though they believe I am living with them purely because I have to and so they will never acknowledge just how much they favor me in front of the Weasleys. I pretend to like the Malfoys and dislike the Weasleys around the Slytherin family in order to keep their favor and stay close to Draco, so this event just became quite the difficult situation. I let out a soft sigh and say in between Fred and Ron. 

"Slimy gits." Ron muttered at which I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, "Ouch!" 

"Everyone ready?" he Ludo asked charging into the box, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"  
  
"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.  
Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"  
The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite us was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.  
  
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce. . . the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"  
The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.  
  
"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"  
I quickly glanced up a Draco as a hundred Veela glided onto the field he had his hands gently placed over his ears and was staring off to the other end of the field as if the Veela didn't even exist. Not sure why but I just watched Draco until the Veela's music stopped and he glanced over at me. Embarrassed I quickly turned round in my seat to see Harry and Ron both halfway over the wall of the box. 

"You Idiots." I groaned getting up and dragging both of them by the ears back to their seats. 

"Honestly!" Hermione huffed.  
  
"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air. . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!"  
Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it - "Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over us, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, I could see that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.  
  
"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"  
The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.  
  
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"  
A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.  
"Ivanova!"  
A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.  
"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"  
  
"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. I rolled my eyes Ron was in love with this guy.  
Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.  
  
"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"  
I screamed and clapped as seven green blurs swept onto the field their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"  
A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

This was the type of high intensity Quidditch game I've always wanted to be a part of one day. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"  
  
"YES!!" I screamed. 

"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"  
  
"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars where the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily. 

The Irish Chasers were superb, they worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on my chest kept squeaking their names: "Troy - Mullet - Mo ran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters. The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.  
  
"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. This time I didn't look back at Draco instead I just sat and watched. After a few seconds, the veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.  
  
"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman.  
One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was. 

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Ron.  
She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"THAT DIRTY LITTLE WEASEL! HE DID THAT ON PURPOSE!" I yelled out. 

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"  
  
"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"  
  
"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course... ." 

Krum was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference. Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything I had seen so far.

"Ireland!!" I shouted my support for my team.  
After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. That's cobbing! A scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast confirmed my thought. 

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing -- excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"  
The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again. All the boys quickly jammed their fingers into their ears but Hermione and I continued to watch as Hassen Mostafa had begun to move toward the veela. 

"Look at the referee!" Hermione said, giggling.  
He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.  
  
"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"  
A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself everyone could see that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before. . ."  
Oh this could turn nasty. . .It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesturing toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle. 

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms. . . yes. . . there they go. . . and Troy takes the Quaffle. ."  
Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!!" I yelled my fellow Irish supporters yelling with me. 

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran -deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"  
  
The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders -"

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"  
Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. The Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet.  
  
"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"  
But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov -The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and no one could blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -" Ron groaned.  
  
"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.  
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and I was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...  
  
"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"   
Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on. . . but Krum was on his tail. There were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"Come on Lynch!" I yelled. 

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.  
  
"They're not!" roared Ron.  
  
"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.  
And he was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.  
  
"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry.  
Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.  
  
"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS -- good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"  
Bagman was wrong of course because the twins were sure this would happen sure enough to bet all of their savings. 

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"  
  
"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good. . . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all. . .  
  
"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess. . ."

"Barf Hermione, don't tell me you've fallen in love with him too." I groaned. "It's Ron's fault."  
It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but I could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn. 

"I couldn't think of a worse way to loose... disappointing his entire team and showing them just how little faith he has in them." I shook my head in disappointment. 

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.  
  
"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"  
  
"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.  
  
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.  
My eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, I saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.  
  
"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.  
And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. I noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar. And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. I was clapping and smiling so ferociously I felt as though both my hands and cheeks would fall off. At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus." "They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes... . yes, I owe you. . . how much?" Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. "Mr. Weasley do you think it would be alright if I stayed behind and watched the fireworks for a little longer" I asked and the top box began to clear out. "I suppose it's fine." Mr. Weasley answered. "Don't be gone for too long." I nodded and sat back down as Mr. Weasley lead everyone else out of the box and down the stairs. I sat alone quietly enjoying the fireworks. looking out and seeing the once packed stadium virtually empty was quite and odd sight.

"Ophelia." Draco Malfoy spoke as he sat down next to me.

"Hello, Draco." I smiled at him but his gaze was fixed directly in front of him. 

"You need to leave." he added. "It's not safe here... something is going to happen." 

"What? What are you talking about?" I questioned. 

"My mother told me because she doesn't want you to get hurt." He answered his voice seemed emotionless. "She likes you, you know." 

"Hey." I tapped his cheek twice. "what are you on about?" 

"You have to leave, run and don't look back." he looked at me now his face stern and serious and his eyes begging me to listen. "you aren't safe here... I can't leave unless you do." 

"Okay, I understand." I spoke softy trying not to sound panicked. "I'll leave."  
Draco didn't act like this, ever, this though only made the panic inside me rise. We walked down the purple-carpeted stairs in silence and once we got to the woods we stopped. 

"Get out of here, I'll see you on the express." He said. 

"Okay, see you." I answered and watched as he left into the woods heading away from camp. The second I was sure he couldn't see me anymore I broke out into a run dodging the burnt out colored lanterns that had previously lit the way from the camp to the stadium. I slowed when I reached the edge of the woods and stared out at the hundreds of tents in front of me. Not many were still out but almost everyone that was were the Irish celebrating our victory through song and laughter. This sight calmed me. I walked the rest of the way to our tents and was met by Mr. Weasley. 

"Ah, there you are!" He said happily. "I was just heading out to look for you."

"Mr. Weasley, I have a bad feeling." I originally wanted to say this purely as a means of warning him about what Draco had said but the second the words left my mouth I truly did get a nasty feeling. "I think something bad is going to happen." 

"Don't' be silly Ophelia, there are dozens of ministry wizards guarding the camp." Mr. Weasley reassured me. 

"Of course you're rig-"  
Before I could finish my sentence a scream filled the air followed by a loud blast. 

"Get inside and wake the girls quickly." Mr. Weasley said staring off into the distance were a cloud of smoke could be seen. 

"Hermione! Ginny!" I yelled entering the tent. "Get up we're leaving!" 

"Hm? what's going on?" Hermione questioned sitting up slightly.  
Another loud blast was enough of an answer for her, she shot up and started pulling her coat and shoes on. 

"Ginny!" I yelled shaking her. "We've got to go!"  
Hermione threw me Ginny's coat and I pushed it into her hands. Mores screaming erupted making Ginny jump into action finally pulling on her coat and shoes. I grabbed my sack and put it on my back before pushing the girls out of the tent. We were met with a horrible sight. People running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward us, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward us; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. They didn't seem to have faces. . . . Then I realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice I saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder. The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and I recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the muggle from the entrance. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.  
  
"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick. . . ."  
Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.  
  
"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"  
Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them.

"Be Careful!" I screamed after them.  
Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.  
  
"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood.  
We all looked back as we reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; we could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. I pushed against the crowd trying my best to keep up with the others but I ended up falling. I tried to get up but with all the people trampling over me it felt impossible. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me up.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked looking me over frantically.

"Yes, I'm fine thank you." I responded the boy had short brown hair and was wearing a hufflepuff pin on his coat. 

"Be safe." I stated before running off and disappearing within the crowd. I looked around and spotted Ron's red hair. 

"If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are." Malfoy said.  
  
"You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron. 

"Stop Ronald." I commanded joining Harry and Hermione. "Malfoy is right whether we like it or not. Hermione is in danger here." 

"What are you doing here Rose??" Draco growled but quickly regained his composure. 

"Where else would she be? Out there wearing a mask with your dad?" Ron jeered. 

"Enough let's go!" I pushed Ron forward to follow after Hermione and Harry. I glanced back at Draco and mouthed an apology.

We had only been running for a few minutes when we came to a clearing and something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness directly in front of us; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky. It was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As we watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Normally I would admire such a beautiful dark display of my favorite color but I knew what this meant and it had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. I scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but I couldn't see anyone. 

"Who's there?" Harry called.  
  
"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward.  
  
"What's the matter?" Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.  
  
"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"  
  
"Voldemort's - "Harry, come on!" I yelled.  
Harry turned - the four of us started across the clearing - but before we had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding us. 

"DUCK!" Harry yelled.  
I quickly grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the ground with me. 

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices - there was a blinding series of flashes and I felt the hair on my head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising my head a fraction of an inch I saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness--

"Stop!" yelled a voice I recognized to be Mr. Weasley. "STOP! That's my son!"  
My hair stopped blowing about. I raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of me had lowered his wand. I rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward us, looking terrified.  
  
"Ron - Ophelia" - his voice sounded shaky - "Harry - Hermione - are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.  
It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.  
  
"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between us. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"  
  
"We didn't do that!" said Harry, gesturing up at the skull.  
  
"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"  
  
"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"  
  
"Mr. Crouch." I said calmly stepping between Ron and Crouch's wand. "We don't know how to create the dark mark nor do we have any interest in learning." 

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to 

"I'm sure you're familiar with the story of Harry Potter." I added this seemed to calm him down a bit as he lowered his wand. 

"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" said Mr. Weasley quickly.

"Over there," said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where we had heard the voice . "There was someone behind the trees. . . they shouted words - an incantation -"  
  
"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy -"  
But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, or Hermione had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.  
  
"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."  
  
"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees. . . . There's a good chance we got them. . ." 

"Come on, you four," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "Mr. Crouch I must find my other children and it is quite obvious that these kids didn't cast the dark mark."  
Mr. Crouch only nodded and then we were following Mr. Weasley through the clearing and into the trees. 

"What happened to the others?" He asked. 

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"  
  
"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr. Weasley tensely.  
But when we reached the edge of the wood, our progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.  
  
"What's going on in there?"  
  
"Who conjured it?"  
  
"Arthur - it's not - Him?"  
  
"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."  
He led us through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking. Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others -"  
  
"I've got them here," said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered after him.  
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken. 

"Bill!" I rushed to him and began pulling potions out of my bag. "let me fix this for you." 

"Alright but if you make it worse I'll put spiders in your room." He answered trying his hardest not to sound in pain.  
I rolled my eyes and removed the the bedsheet. I bit my lip, the gash was quite large and he was loosing a lot of blood. 

"This'll hurt a bit." I said before pouring the purple wound-cleaning potion onto the cut. 

"Pfft that's nothing." Bill waved it off through gritted teeth.  
I waved the smoke away from the wound and quickly wrapped it in bandages before giving him a blood-replenishing potion to drink. 

"All set." I grinned.

"Thanks, you're the best." Bill said patting my head. 

"Look, can someone explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone. . . . Why's it such a big deal?"  
  
"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."  
  
"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "Of course people panicked. . . it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again." 

"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean. . . it's still only a shape in the sky..."  
  
"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired... you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear. . . the very worst.."  
There was silence for a moment.

"Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now." Bill spoke.  
  
"Death Eaters?" Harry questioned. "What are Death Eaters?"  
  
"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway." 

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.  
  
"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron suddenly . "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"Stop it Ron! He didn't say that!" I scolded him. 

"But what were Voldemort's supporters -" Harry began. Everybody flinched - like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"  
  
"The point?" said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly. 

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" Ron asked. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"  
  
"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives... I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"He'd probably kill them before anyone else." I added. 

"So. . . whoever conjured the Dark Mark. . ." said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"  
  
"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "But I'll tell you this... it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now. . Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."  
Hermione, Ginny and I walked over to our tent and within about ten minutes the two were passed out. I on the other hand couldn't sleep. Something about this night just wasn't right... who conjured the mark tonight and for what reason? I think it took me about and hour to finally fall asleep.

Mr. Weasley woke us after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved us off with a vague "Merry Christmas."  
  
"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while...and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."  
We heard urgent voices as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of our breakfast. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane. 

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward us, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. "Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried-"  
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, I saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.  
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at us all with red eyes, "you're alive. . . . Oh boys... And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.  
  
"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -" Fred groaned. 

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred. . . George. ."  
  
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prying her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says. . ."  
When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.  
  
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders. . . culprits not apprehended... lax security. . . Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace. . . Who wrote this? Ah. . . of course. . . Rita Skeeter."  
  
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans --" 

"Do us a favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."  
  
"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.  
  
"Where?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"  
  
"Not by name," said Mr. Weasley. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods... well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that." He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."  
He bustled out of the kitchen. 

"Oh thank goodness for that." I sighed Percy was too much to deal with. 

Mrs. Weasley looked most upset. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"  
  
"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off..."

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"  
  
"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No. . . no, there hasn't been any post at all."  
Ron, Hermione, and I looked curiously at Harry. 

With a meaningful look at us he said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah. . . think I will too," said Ron at once. "Hermione, Opehlia?"  
  
"Right." I nodded. 

"Yes," Hermione said quickly, and the four of us marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  
  
"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked, the moment we had closed the door of the attic room behind us.  
  
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."  
Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.  
  
"But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"  
  
"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him.. . him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill...someone."

"This can't be good." I spoke absentmindedly. 

"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."  
  
"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it?. . . My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.  
  
"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"  
Professor Trelawney was out Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.

"Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"  
  
"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again... greater and more terrible than ever before. . . and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him. . . and that night Wormtail escaped."

"I don't think any of this should be taken lightly... not even Professor Trelawney's prediction. Harry could be in danger and so could the rest of us, we need to stay alert and be prepared for anything."  
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"  
  
"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."  
  
"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"  
  
"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.  
  
"But we don't know where Sirius is. . . he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."  
  
"Yeah, I know," said Harry his expression was grim. 

"Don't worry Harry, Sirius is a very capable wizard i'm sure he's fine." I tried to console him. 

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry" said Ron. "Come on - four on four, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George and Ginny and Ophelia will play. .. . You can try out the Wronski Feint... ."  
  
"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now... . He's worried, and he's tired... We all need to go to bed..."

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."  
Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys."

Bill, Ginny and Charlie were on my team. Charlie played seeker, Ginny chaser, Bill beater and me the keeper. On Ron's team he was the keeper, Harry the seeker, Fred beater, and George a chaser. 

Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.  
  
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told us importantly the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week . People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders." 

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.  
  
"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."  
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had ten golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names and one with mine. For my eleventh brithday they supriesd me with my own golden hand and told me i'd always be a part of their family... needless to say I cried. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril." Nine of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley sighed.  
  
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."  
  
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"

"Percy you little-" I started at him but Hermione held me back. 

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.  
  
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me -"  
  
"No, Mum."

"That woman is just all around unpleasant." I stated. 

Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Harry, Ron, and me in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Ron was now playing chess with Charlie and Bill was of in another part of the house. I was combing through a copy of Owle Bullocks' Secrets of the Darkest Art that Professor Snape had given me at the end of last year. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.

"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.  
  
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.  
  
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"  
  
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"  
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.  
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "traveling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and we could hear him calling from the kitchen.  
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.  
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."  
  
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.

"Shut it Percy." I barked. 

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs. Weasley, preventing the conversation from going and further. "Come on now, all of you. . . ."

Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron. Hermione and Ginny followed me up to our room. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistling and moaning from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. I surveyed the things sprawled out on my bed that needed to be packed into my trunk. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, I had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for my potion-making kit - I had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. Mrs. Weasley knocked lightly before entering our room. She handed the three of us each a small pile of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes out of all the robes in her hands mine were the only ones decorated with green. Time like these always made me wonder if I really belonged here with a house full of brave and kindhearted Gryffindors. She left as quickly as she had come to deliver the rest of her arm fulls of robes to the boys. I watched as Ginny and Hermione packed beautiful dresses into their trucks delicately so as not to damage them. I frowned I didn't have anything like that... maybe I could ask Mrs. Weasley if she could get me one with my parent money. I quickly left the room and headed to Ron's room.

"Well, they're okay!" said Ron angrily, looking at Harry's robes. "Why couldn't I have some like that?"  
  
"Because. . . well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!" said Mrs. Weasley, flushing.

"Ronald Weasley! Give them to me you ungrateful git." I narrowed my eyes at him and snatched the dress robes out of his hands.  
The Weasleys have never had a lot of money what with seven children of their own plus me the amount they spend on food alone is unfathomable. I had my own money that my parents had left for me and more than anything I wanted to give them some of it and help them with expenses but Mrs. Weasley would never let me. Ron knew their situation but he was never good at making Mrs. Weasley feel better about it, though I can't blame him these robes are quite awful but i'll fix them up for him I suppose. 

"Did you need something dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she walked out of Ron's room. 

"Well, it's just that... um well Ginny and Hermione both have dresses... but I don't" I explained. 

"Oh! Don't worry! Your mum had her dress put away for you to wear when this day came." Mrs. Weasley answered. "I just have to go get it! I'll have it brought to Hogwarts so don't worry okay?" 

"I see thank you!" I responded heading back to my room to finish packing. 

There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when we awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in black jeans and a green sweatshirt; we would change into our school robes on the Hogwarts Express. When I entered the living room I saw Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears.  
  
"... Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there --"  
  
"Here!" said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands. 

"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.

Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."  
  
"What did the dustbins do?" asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically.  
  
"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr. Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up -"

Mr. Weasley groaned. "And what about the intruder?"

"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr. Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it -- think of his record -- we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department -- what are exploding dustbins worth?"  
  
"Might be a caution," said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed.  
  
"Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"  
  
"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr. Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."  
  
"All right, I'm off," Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again. 

Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Mrs. Weasley. "Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything...but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night.."

"Never mind, Amos," said Mrs. Weasley. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"  
  
"Oh go on, then," said Mr. Diggory.  
Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth.  
  
"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.  
I continued to the kitchen and sat down next to Ron. 

"I'd better hurry - you have a good term, kids, said Mr. Weasley to me, Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. "Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?"  
  
"Of course I will," she said. "You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine."  
As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.  
  
"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asked. "What's he been up to now."  
  
"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter -"  
  
"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," said Mrs. Weasley sternly.  
  
"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. "Birds of a feather. . ."  
  
"Moody was a great wizard in his time," said Bill.  
  
"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" said Charlie.  
  
"Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?" said Fred. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything.. ."  
  
"Who is Mad-Eye?" asked Harry.  
  
"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," said Charlie. "I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror - one of the best. . . a Dark wizard catcher," he added, seeing Harry's blank look "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though. . . the families of people he caught, mainly... and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."

"Really, you can't blame the old man." I added grabbing some toast. 

Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.  
  
"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told them. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."  
  
"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."

"Yeah, maybe." I laughed. "See you Weatherby!" 

I was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. We did it in groups today; Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I (the most conspicuous, since we were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; we leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it... and as we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of us. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. We set off to find seats, and were soon stowing our luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.  
  
"Why?" said Fred keenly.  
  
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."  
  
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.  
  
"Why?" said George impatiently.  
  
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."  
  
"A bit of what?" said Ron.

"Bill you really aren't gonna tell us?" I asked trying my best to make a cute pleading face. "Not even me?"  
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivied them toward the train doors.  
  
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as we climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.  
  
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."  
  
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"  
  
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs . Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"  
  
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.  
  
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"  
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.  
  
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"  
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.  
Me, Ron, Hermione, and Harry went back to our compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. I had decide that while I indeed would alter Ron's robes and make them look more presentable he would be the one to hold onto them seeing as any extra room I had in my truck was occupied by books Charlie had brought me on Dragons. 

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --"  
  
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours. We listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.  
  
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."  
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.  
  
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Well I think I'll go change into my robes now." I announced getting up. 

"What we still have plenty of time-" Ron started but Hermione hushed him and I left the compartment. I walked down the train to the bathroom and changed into my robes. This didn't take me long so I decided to wander the train a bit not wanting to go back to our compartment while they were still talking about Draco. I sat in with Cedric and a few of his Hufflepuff friends for a while before I decided it'd be best for me to go back. I slipped into the compartment and sat next to Hermione who was reading The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. Several of Harry and Ron's friends looked in on us as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable witch of a grandmother. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. I was only friends with Neville the other two didn't like me very much because of my house and I had frequently heard them talking about me behind my back. I pretended to take a nap as I listened to them talk about Quidditch and the World Cup.

"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."  
  
"It was," said Ron. "Look at this, Neville..." I opened my eyes slightly enough to see him rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pull out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh wow," said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.  
  
"We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box -"  
  
"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley." Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.  
  
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly. I sat up and looked at Malfoy who paid me no attention.  
  
"Weasley. . . what is that?" Draco asked, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious. Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Draco was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.  
  
"Look at this!" said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..." 

"Actually Malfoy." I stated standing up and taking Ron's robes out of his hands. "These are mine. I'm making some changes to them for a new outfit." 

"So. . . going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know. . . you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."  
Draco completely ignored me and continued talking to Ron. 

  
"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.  
  
'Are you going to enter?' Draco repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face "Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago... heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry. . . . Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley. . . yes... they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him. . . ." Laughing once more, Draco beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared. I seethed but sat back in my seat. Not only was Draco ignoring me but he also had the nerve to talk about Mr. Weasley like that in front of me. Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.  
  
"Well.. . making it look like he knows everything and we don't.. . ." Ron snarled. "Father's always associated with the top peopie at the Ministry.'. . . Dad could've got a promotion any time... he just likes it where he is. . . ."

"Of course he does," said Hermione quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -"  
  
"Him! Get to me!? As if!" said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.  
Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over our heads.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"Hello, Hagrid!" I also yelled waving at the gentle giant of a man.  
  
"All righ', Harry, Ophelia?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"  
First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.  
  
"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. 

"The first years will surely be miserable." I nodded in agreement.  
A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for us outside the station. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Harry, and I climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle. Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. We jumped down from out carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak - ARRGH!"  
A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of water over his sneakers. People all around us shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. I looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again. 

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"  
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.  
  
"Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -"  
  
"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.  
  
"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.  
  
"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.  
  
"I shall call the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves -"  
Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely. There was always something interesting going on at Hogwarts, never a dull moment.  
  
"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face. The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. This was the part I always dreaded. 

"See you Ophelia." Hermione waved as she, Ron, and Harry walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. I sighed and took a seat close to the sorting hat at the Slytherin table. I looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, most likely for whoever would be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. We had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Mine and presumably most everyone else's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. I looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the Potions master, Snape - one of my favorite people at Hogwarts. Though my friends opinions of him are the complete opposite of mine especially after last years incident with Sirius Black I would trust Snape with my life, and that's saying something when it's coming from me. On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. I glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it. It was truly beautiful. I shifted my focus on the person that was giving me the strange feeling of being watched. Glancing around the Slytherin table when my green eyes met Draco's grey ones. His eyes narrowed aupon making eye contact with me and he didn't look away until the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell over the room. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school - all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught someones eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! I almost snorted at that. What type of kid gets excited to have fallen into the lake? Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song: 

A thousand years or more ago, When I was newly sewn, There lived four wizards of renown, Whose names are still well known:  
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.  
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, They hatched a daring plan To educate young sorcerers Thus Hogwarts School began.  
Now each of these four founders Formed their own house, for each Did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach.  
By Gryffindor, the bravest were Prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest Would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were Most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin Loved those of great ambition.  
While still alive they did divide Their favorites from the throng, Yet how to pick the worthy ones When they were dead and gone?  
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, He whipped me off his head The founders put some brains in me So I could choose instead!  
Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind And tell where you belong!  
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. 

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment."When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. "Ackerley, Stewart!"  
A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.  
  
"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.  
Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.  
  
"Baddock, Malcolm!"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!"  
I clapped and cheered along with my housemates to give Malcolm as warm of a welcome as Slytherins were capable of and to my delight he looked quite happy to join us. I caught a hissing sound coming from the Gryffindor table and I quickly looked over to see non other than Fred and George. 

"Watch it Weasleys!" I scolded them from my seat narrowing my eyes at them angrily. Reactions like theirs are the reason first years beg the hat not to place them in Slytherin. 

"Branstone, Eleanor!"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"Cauldwell, Owen!"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"Creevey, Dennis!"  
Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming - a misleading impression, for I knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at most likely at Hermione, Ron, and Harry as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat.

The rip at the brim opened wide-- - "GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his table. The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

"Pritchard, Graham!"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!"  
  
"Quirke, Orla!"  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended.  
Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Eat Ophelia." I looked up to see Bloody Baron. 

"Baron!" I smiled. "It's great to see you again. Peeves didn't give you too much of a hard time did he?" 

"You know how he is, always causing trouble." Baron answered. "Even wanted to come to the feast tonight."  
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and typically silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves. 

"Oh and don't tell me Fat Friar wanted to give him a chance?" I asked.

"I can't tell if death has made him a fool or if he was always like that." Baron answered. "I'll leave you now so make sure you eat." 

"Alright then will do Baron." I said turning my attention to the food in front of me.  
Baron once told me I reminded him of Helena Ravenclaw because of my black hair and the way I acted towards boys. He then told me about his and Helena's death and we've been good friends ever since. I placed a few things on my plate and slowly ate what I wanted. The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings. When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at the students. "Now that we are all fed and watered.I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it." The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What!?" I screeched. Cries and protests rose from every table. I was the Slytherins Keeper and I was bloody good too. I looked around at my fellow Quidditch players but and to my astonishment Draco didn't seem surprised or upset at all. 

Dumbledore continued, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"  
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table. A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. If I wasn't mistaken this man was Madeye Moody. I've read and heard plenty about him through Mr. Weasley and he defintley fit the description.The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness. He reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words I couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of Moody, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. He sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."  
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore, Hagrid, and me we put our hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and I stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him. Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."  
  
"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.  
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.  
  
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."  
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.  
"Er - but maybe this is not the time.. . no. . ." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities -until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued. There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money." 

"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed at the Gryffindor table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, I could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.  
  
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" -- Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hog-warts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!" 

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.  
  
"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"  
  
"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons. . ."

"Don't be silly how do you plan to get your names in?" I asked joing Ron, Harry, Hermione, and the twins. 

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

We set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.  
  
"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" said Harry.  
  
"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George.. ."  
  
"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.  
  
"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names." 

"I'm sure Dumbledore will take precations to make sure that underage wizards aren't able to enter." I rolled my eyes. "Well see you guys." 

"See you." Hermione and Harry responded. The Weasley boys aparently too concerned about the triwizard turnament did not respond as I parted ways with them to make my way to the Slytherin comon room.


	2. Chapter 2

Most of my housemates were already in their beds, but Draco Malfoy was sitting next to the windows looking out into the lake. I sighed, walked over to him, and sat across from him. 

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, but this is quite ridiculous," I grumbled. 

"Ridiculous Rose?" He looked at me, eyes narrow. "What's ridiculous is that I go out of my way to try and protect you, and then against my warnings, you put yourself directly in the middle of what I wanted you to run away from! And for what?! A bunch of muggle lovers and a mudblood?"

"Malfoy," I said sternly. "The Weasleys are the closest thing I have to family, and Hermione was my first friend at Hogwarts! I couldn't leave them there, and you know that! Why I even apologized, I don't know because you clearly don't deserve my apology." I stood up and started to walk away. 

"Ophelia... don't be that way... I didn't mean that. What I said about them... I'm - I'm sorry." Draco grabbed my wrist and pulled me to face him.

"What was that?" I grinned, "Could you repeat that, please?" 

"No, not happening," Draco stated, "I know you heard me." 

"Alright, alright." I sighed. "I suppose we should get some sleep now."

"Right." Draco agreed, and we walked over to the stairs. "night."

"Good night, Draco," I responded. Draco went up the stairs, and I went down. The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Draco and I examined our new course schedules at breakfast. Across from us at the Gryffindor table, I could hear Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament. I didn't have many friends within Slytherin, in fact, Draco was my only friend in Slytherin. This being said, Draco was a different person around Crabbe and Goyle, so when I was with the three of them I didn't talk much, just listened and kept to myself. There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. Draco's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. To my surprise, a black owl swooped down and dropped a large package into my hands. 

"What is that?" Draco asked, knowing I don't normally get mail and that the owl that dropped it off did not belong to me or the Weasleys.

"I-I'm not sure," I answered, looking over the package. 

"Well open it then." Draco rolled his eyes at me.

"Right." I slowly opened up the package. Inside the was green cloth with a handwritten note resting on top of it.

_ My Dearest Flower,  _

_ I'm sorry I couldn't give this to you in person, but as I'm sure you know, things do not always go as planned. When I was your age, such a long time ago, your father asked me to go to a ball with him and I wore this dress. Your father and I had only spoken twice before he had asked me to be his date, but it was that night that I knew I would love him until my last breath. I know it may be a bit old school for you by the time you'll wear it, but I hope you love it just as much as I did. Have the time of your life at your first ball, my sweet little flower I know you'll look marvelous.  _

_ , With Love, your Mother _

"Can... Can you tell Professor Flitwick I'm sick?" I asked as I got up tightly gripping the package and its letter I ran out of the Great Hall and toward the Slytherin common room. As soon as I was sure there was no one around, I broke into a run. I ran into the common room, yelling the password as I did and dashed into my room. I placed the box on my bed and slowly pulled the dress out of it. I held it up and admired its beauty. The front was plain with a neckline that covered the collar bones, but the back was open from the top to a few inches above the butt. There was a large silver snake that was connected to the dress with six sets of thin silver chain. The snake, when worn, would curl along the spine. The dresses bottom flared out and left a short train of jade green material.

"Wow. 

I whipped around to see Draco staring at the dress. "What are you doing in here?! This is the girls' dormitories!" 

"I know, but you seemed upset... I wanted to check on you." He said defensively. 

"If someone saw you in here, you could get in big trouble, Draco!" I scolded and began gently folding the dress back into the package. 

"Who sent it to you?" He asked, ignoring my statement. 

"My mother... Well, someone else sent it but the dress and note are hers." I answered. 

"Still looking after you even..." 

"Yeah, even in death." I nodded. 

We walked down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached our ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions. The Gryffindors were already at Hagrids patiently waiting for us Slytherin to arrive. 

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And  ** why ** would we want to raise them?" Draco questioned. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words.

I peeked into one of the crates at what Hagrid had inside. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of one, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches. Looking at them, I couldn't help but agree with Draco, but Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" asked Malfoy. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things - I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake - just try 'em out with a bit of each." 

"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.

"Pus?" I questioned. 

"Professor Sprout made us collect the pus from bubotubers," Hermione answered, and next to her, Ron seemed to shudder.

If it weren't for how much I like Hagrid, I would not be doing this. I, along with other students, picked up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lowered them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. "It got me." Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. "Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box.) "I reckon they're the males... The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies... I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Malfoy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"I'm sure Hagrid has got a good reason for us taking care of these things," I stated, tossing another handful of liver into a crate. 

An hour later, I walked back up to the Castle with the members of my house for lunch. I sat down and quickly ate a lamb chop and a small pile of mashed potatoes. 

"Whoa there, Rose slow down." Draco sneered at me. 

"Shut up Malfoy I'm not even eating that fast." I snapped at him. I finished my food before getting up. 

"Where are you going??" Draco questioned. 

"I have some work to do see you at dinner!" I called as I rushed out of the Great Hall. 

"Going to work on Ron's robes?" Hermione questioned as we both hurried down the hall. 

"Yep, headed to the library?" I answered. 

"Of course." She smiled at me before we parted ways. My dress would need some fixing up as well, but I decided Ron's would be first. I got to my room and pulled his robe out from under my bed. I'll start by removing all the frilly and lace bits. I had to be careful removing them, so I didn't accidentally rip the entire robe. By not taking any breaks, I was able to finish right before dinner started. I put the unwanted pieces in the bin, and but the robe back under my bed before washing my hands and making my way down to the Great Hall. When I reached the entrance hall, it was obvious that some type of commotion was taking place. All the students were crowded around a few people as I got closer, I could make out what was being said. 

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron. . ."

"Move," I growled, pushing my way through the crowd. 

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?" 

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry - both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - "that expression she's got like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

"Wait, Ophelia don't-" Hermione tried to grab me but failed. I pulled my arm back and hurled it forward right into Malfoy's face. 

"Watch your mouth Malfoy." I seethed, grabbing him by the robes and pulling him up. "You should know not everyone that cares for the Weasleys are Gryffindors." I let go of him and turned to Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "I didn't mean that as an insult to Gryffindors or anything." 

"We know Ophelia don't worry," Hermione said as the four of us went to walk away. 

BANG!

Several people screamed- I quickly turned around to see Malfoy with his wand out pointed at Harry. 

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

I spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry -- at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head. 

"Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

"No," said Harry, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave - what?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Not you - him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons. 

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..." The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never - do - that - again -" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What - what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody.

"Teach - Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," said Moody.

"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock -"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable. "Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son. . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?" 

"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. Come on, you. . ."

And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to me, Harry, and Hermione as we walked into the Great Hall a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.

"Why not?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret."

"Something wasn't right about that..." I mumbled, although, it seemed my comment was unheard. "I think I'll skip dinner tonight... If you need me, I'll be in the library." The three of them gave me looks of concern, but let me leave. When I got to the library, I immediately collected every book I could find that mentioned Madeye Moody. I couldn't have been reading for more than ten minutes before Hermione rushed in. She came and sat next to me. 

"Why are you so interested in Moody?" Hermione questioned as she began her pile of books next to mine. 

"I'm not sure... I just have a very strange feeling." I answered.

The next two days passed without great incident unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape gave Neville detention, and he returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron asked Harry and me as we watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Moody."

It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of our previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever I saw the two of them together -at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors - I had a distinct impression that Snape was avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Don't be ridiculous." I snorted. "Snape scared of another teacher?" 

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," said Ron, his eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon..."

"Oh, shut it." I groaned. "that would never happen." 

Every fourth year Slytherin and Gryffindor was looking forward to Moody's first lesson. Some so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even run. I was eager to get into the classroom but not for the same reason everyone else was. I hurried into the classroom and took a seat behind Hermione. Soon we heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. We could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, stomping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them." 

Quickly everyone put away their books. Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered. "Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?" There was a general murmur of assent. "But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," said Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time I had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as a smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. ... Yeah, I'm staying for just one year. Special favor to Dumbledore. . . . One year, and then back to my quiet retirement." He gave a harsh laugh and then clapped his gnarled hands together. "So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently, Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

"So. . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one..... Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Of course, it had to be spiders. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!" The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. Everyone was laughing - everyone except me.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly. "Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats. . ."

I could see Ron shudder. "Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody, and I knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped. Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air again and so, to most everyone's slight surprise, did Neville's. From the classes I have had with Neville I was sure the only class in which he usually volunteered information was Herbology which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring."Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye-rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice. Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move. "The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible. Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but I was sure that if it could have given a voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently -

"Stop it!" Hermione said shrilly.

When Moody didn't stop, I spoke up. "Can't you see it's bothering him!" 

Moody looked up a Neville and seemed to understand. Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified. Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. "Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once too. Right. . . anyone know any others?" 

From the looks on everyone's faces, I guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider, but I already knew. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air. "Yes?" said Moody, looking at her.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispered. Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra. .. the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. Moody raised his wand... "Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared. 

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

Something inside of my told me that he didn't say this in good nature. His voice seemed as though it was dripping in a foreboding tone.

"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again. "Now... those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need to prepare. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills... copy this down..." 

We spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices - "Did you see it twitch?" "- and when he killed it - just like that!"

I rushed out of the classroom, and against my better judgment, ignored Neville opting to head straight for the library. Constant Vigilance, something Moody seems to say quite often in person but never in any of his interviews. Maybe I could ask Mr. Weasley if he's ever heard Moody say that, after all, the two are supposedly quite close. I'll need to borrow someone's owl.

"Ophelia... Hello?" Hermione waved her hand in front of my face. 

"Ah, sorry about that... in deep thought," I responded. 

"Professor Moody is really bothering you this much?" She asked

"Yes." I groaned. "I don't know how to explain it, but there's something entirely off about that man. Did you see the way he looked at Neville before ending the Cruciatus curse?" 

"I agree it was odd, but don't you think everything about him is odd?" Hermione questioned. 

"I suppose." I agreed absentmindedly. 

"Right well, I'd like you to join S.P.E.W." She started placing a box on the table. 

"Um, what's that?" I asked, looking curiously at the box as she removed the lid. 

"S.P.E.W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare." She answered proudly. I looked inside the box and saw about fifty badges, all of them different colors with S.P.E.W. printed on them. 

"I've never heard of that...did you create it?" 

"Yes, and if you join you'll be my very first member." Hermione looked very proud of herself. 

"I see... why did you decide on S.P.E.W.?" 

"Well, I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto." She pulled out a sheaf of parchment and set it on the table. 

"Is this what you've been researching lately?" I asked surveying the parchment. 

"Yes! Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now. Our short-term aims," said Hermione, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"Okay, you seem very well organized." I nodded, "How is it that we will accomplish these goals?" 

"We start by recruiting members," said Hermione happily. "I thought two Sickles to join -that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're Vice President, Ron is treasurer - I've got him a collecting tin upstairs - and Harry is secretary." 

"Oh? I get to be VP? that's quite exciting." I said happily pulling out two sickles and handing them to her. 

"So then you'll join and help me get others to join too??" Hermione asked grinning excitedly.

"Of course, Hermione." I picked up a green badge and pinned it to my robe. There's no point in denying her she won't take no for an answer. 

"Fantastic!" She began gathering her things. "I have to go tell Harry and Ron. They'll join for sure now that you've agreed." 

"Good night," I called as she rushed out. 

I sighed and started writing a letter to Mr. Weasley once I finished, I cleaned up my mess and turned in for the night. 

Early the next morning I woke and slipped out of my dormitory. I hurriedly made my way to the owlery. The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep. Hedwig, though, was wide awake as Harry tied a message to her leg. 

"Harry? What are you sending off so early?" I asked, walking over to Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon. 

"Sirius wrote back to me," Harry whispered. "He thinks he has to come back because of my dream. I'm telling him I imagined it, so he'll stay away." 

"You don't think he'll believe that, do you?" I asked as Hedwig flew out of the owlery. 

"I have to try." He answered. "What are you sending out?" 

"A message to Mr. Weasley, I want to know how things with the Ministry are going," I answered as I sent Ron's owl off. 

"Want to walk to breakfast together?" Harry suggested. 

"Sure." I agreed and followed him out of the owlery. 

We discussed our classes and how odd it was not to have Quidditch. Talking with him made me feel a bit guilty about lying to him in the owlery, but I didn't want to add to Harry's worries with something like a hunch. Besides, Harry seemed to like Moody. 

Hermione, Ron, and I did our best to distract Harry over the next couple of weeks so he wouldn't think too much on the subject of Sirius. Though worrying about him grew increasingly difficult for me, as our classes got harder and I buried myself in books. My suspicions about Moody were only amplified when Mr. Weasley wrote back to me, confirming that he didn't know Moody as one to repeat the phrase 'constant vigilance.' I rarely went to lunch or dinner, and if it weren't for Hermione and Cedric bringing me food I would probably be dead by now. To everyone's surprise, Moody announced he would be putting the Imperius curse on each of us to demonstrate its power and see whether we could resist its effects.

Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it. When Harry's turn arrived, things were different. 

"Now, that's more like it!" growled Moody. "Look at that, you lot. . . Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"

I studied Harry's eyes and when it was my turn, I did my very best to fight off any urge to do something ridiculous. When he cast the spell on me, it was the most wonderful feeling. A floating sensation consumed me as every thought and worry in my head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but vague, untraceable happiness. I stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching me. Moody's voice seemed to come from deep within me and told me to empty my pockets. Empty my pockets? What for? I won't. My body didn't move an inch. 

"EMPTY THEM NOW!" Moody's voice seemed ten times louder and this time my hands moved slowly toward my pockets. 

NO. I won't empty them! I screamed inside my head I felt my hands drop back to my sides. Suddenly I felt in control again. 

"That's it! Rose has done it! She beat it!" Moody spoke gruffly, but it didn't seem like he was truly praising me. 

Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had us writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape had us research antidotes. Ron and Harry seemed to think Snape had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked us to read three extra books in preparation for our lesson on Summoning Charms. Even Hagrid was adding to our workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their "project," suggested that we come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.

"I will not," Draco Malfoy said flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

Hagrid's smile faded off his face. "Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book. . . . I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy." 

The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently, the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting. Once again Malfoy and I had made up after that incident in the entrance hall but we still weren't back on normal terms so I had been walking back to the castle with Hermione, Ron, and Harry. When we arrived in the entrance hall, we found ourselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the four of us, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of us and read the sign aloud to us:

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY --

"Brilliant!" said Harry. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!" 

"He was never going to poison you, Harry." I corrected. 

STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.

"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him. . . ."

"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off.

"Diggory," said Harry. "He must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as we pushed our way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.

"Ronald! He isn't an idiot!" I scolded hitting him on the side of the head. 

"You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," said Hermione. "I've heard he's a really good student - and he's a prefect."

"Yes and he's very kind," I added. 

"Aren't you supposed to be going to the Slytherin common room?" Ron asked scathingly. 

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where one went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves. I noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics. When I went up to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, I found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: a green with a silver serpent for Slytherin, red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H., As usual, I sat across from Draco and behind Ron. I sat and ate quietly until the owls came in with the morning post. 

"Hedwig's back," Ron whispered tapping my shoulder to get my attention. I got up and crouched in between Ron and Harry to listen to Sirius's reply. 

_ Nice try, Harry. _

_ I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scar. _

_ Sirius _

"I told you he wouldn't believe that," I commented. "At least we know he got here safe though." 

"Why do you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," Hermione said at once. "She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding... I mean, they're not native birds, are they?" Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes.

"Mum asked if you got your package, O," Ron stated. 

"Um, yes I did get it," I answered. 

"What was it?" Ron asked. "I didn't get a package." 

"It was something my mum left me," I answered. "I'm going back now." 

I straightened myself up and sat back down at the Slytherin table. 

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more lax than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, I hurried down to the dungeons, deposited my bag and books as we had been instructed, pulled on my cloak, and rushed back upstairs into the entrance hall. The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. Snape instructed us to be quiet and not to act foolish or we'd get detention. He snatched some type of pin off of one of the first years' hat and deposited it in his robe. We followed Snap and filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. I stood patiently next in between Draco and Pansy Parkinson. We scanned the darkening grounds, but nothing was moving; everything was still and silent as usual.

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers -"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

"There!" yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid. . . it's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey.

Dennis's guess was closer. . . . As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, we saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery-red eyes. Luckily the Slytherin fifth year decided to ignore Neville to pay attention to what was happening in front of us.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then I saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman I had ever seen in my life. The size of the carriage, and the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped. I had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in my life, and that was Hagrid; I doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow -maybe simply because I was used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, to better look at this woman. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dort," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore.

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

I now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what I could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

"As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.

"He should be here any moment," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," said Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses -"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," said Dumbledore, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges."

"Skrewts," I muttered.

"My steeds require - er - forceful 'andling," said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong. . . ."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Very well," said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," said Dumbledore, also bowing.

"Come," said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

We stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. 

But then - "you hear something?" Pansy asked suddenly.

We listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward us from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed.

"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

From our position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, we had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor... What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. 

"It's a mast," I told Pansy and Draco. 

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, we heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People were disembarking; we could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, I noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle... but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, I saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle. We now saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and I noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good..... Viktor, come along, into the warmth. . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..." Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students.

I rolled my eyes as several girls from all different houses, including Pansy, made squealing sounds as Viktor Krum entered the light. "I don't believe it!" Ron said, in a stunned voice, "Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!"

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," said Hermione.

I caught a bit of Ron and Hermione's conversation as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. As I walked beside Draco into the Great Hall I caught another conversation between several sixth-year girls that were frantically searching their pockets as they walked - "Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me -"

"D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"

"In lipstick? " I snorted. "How ridiculous."

"Of course you would think it's ridiculous." Pansy sneered. "Krum wouldn't even look twice at you." 

"Oh shut up Pansy," I growled back. "You think he'd be interested in you?" 

Draco pulled Pansy into a seat before she could say anything else to me and I followed suit. I glanced around the students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads. 

"Oh, my Merlin!" Pansy squealed as Viktor Krum took a seat next to me followed by the rest of the Durmstrang boys. I nodded at them respectfully and watched as Draco leaned forward to introduce himself to Krum. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed. Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion.

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side.

Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The plates in front of us filled with food as usual. There was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign. The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts' robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep blood red. Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand then turned to me a nodded. 

"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry called.

"Thrivin'," Hagrid called back happily.

"Seems he's found something they like eating, his fingers," I grumbled. 

"I told you those things were useless." Draco sneered at me. 

I looked back up at the staff table to see Ludo Bagman seated next to Professor Karkaroff and Mr. Crouch seated next to Madame Maxime. I suppose the tournament has really begun. When the second course arrived I noticed several unfamiliar desserts too. Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. 

"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket --"

"Casket?" Pansy questioned. 

"- just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" - there was a smattering of polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their magical prowess - their daring -their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger." At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. "As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as we all made our way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. "Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"

"It's not just  ** any ** age line Freddie," I stressed. "Its an age line drawn by Dumbledore." 

"Besides I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," said Hermione, "we just haven't learned enough. . ."

"Speak for yourself," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"

Harry seemed to contemplate his answer for a few seconds but opted not to respond. 

"Where is he?" said Ron, who wasn't listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"

"Oh stop it, Ron!" I groaned. "You sound like a lovesick little girl." 

"Back to the ship, then," he was saying. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?" We were now passing the Durmastrang bunch. 

I saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on. "Professor, Ivood like some vine," said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy -"

Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at the same moment as me, Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Harry stopped to let him walk through first.

"Thank you," said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him. And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry and stared at him as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry too. I saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged the boy next to him and pointed openly at Harry's forehead.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," said a growling voice from behind us.

Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster. Oddly the color drained from Karkaroff's face. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over him.

"

You!" he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.

"Me," said Moody grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway." It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind them, looking over one another's shoulders to see what was causing the holdup. Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. With that interaction, I was suddenly suspicious of not one but two professors residing under Hogwarts very roof. 

As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfast late. Today though, many joined me in my normal early Saturday morning routine to watch students place their names into the Goblet. When I went down into the entrance hall, I saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction. I walked over to where Fred and George were talking to Hermione, Ron, and Harry. 

"One drop each," said George, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," said Jordan Lee, grinning broadly.

"Idiots." I coughed. 

"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," said Hermione warningly. "I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this."

"Ready?" Fred asked as he hooked arms with George. They both jumped over the line together holding slips of paper with their names on them. 

"Yeahhhh." Fred and George said together as they successfully placed their pieces of paper into the goblet. Everyone watching clapped and applauded. But in the next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards. The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards.

"Why boys, you don't look half bad with those beards." I laughed. 

"I did warn you," said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything quite as fine as yours."

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry also chortling, went in to breakfast. I stayed behind to watch a few Slytherins put their name in and once they were done I quickly headed after my three friends. 

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner.

"We can't have a Slytherin champion!" Harry said with a disgusted look on his face.

"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," said Seamus contemptuously. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."

"Not all Slytherins are bad Harry," I stated walking up to them. "Cedric is an amazing wizard and the idea that you think he won't enter just because he's attractive is outrageous Finnigan." 

"Nice going!" I heard Hermione scold them as I swiftly turned and started out of the hall. I decided to go pay Hagrid a visit. I quickly made it down the sloping ground and knocked on Hagrid's door. 

"Bout time!" Hagrid bellowed cheerfully. "Where are the others?" 

"Well, they're still eating-" I started to say but lost my words when I looked Hagrid over. He was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn't the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches - perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he had too much hair. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all.

"Hagrid? Have you combed your hair?" Harry's voice came from behind me. 

I turned around and saw that much like me Ron, Harry, and Hermione were in awe of Hagrid's strange appearance. 

"Yep had ter clean up fer the special occasion goin on," Hagrid responded. 

"Erm - where are the skrewts," Hermione questioned.

"Out by the pumpkin patch," said Hagrid happily. "They're get-tin' massive, mus' be nearly three-foot-long now. On'y trouble is, they've started killin' each other."

"Oh no, really?" said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it.

"Yeah," said Hagrid sadly. "S' okay, though, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' twenty."

"Well, that's lucky," said Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm.

Hagrid's cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. We sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as we were. We ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though we didn't eat much - Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, we rather lost our appetites. However, we enjoyed ourselves trying to make Hagrid tell us what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet. A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges.

"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. "It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin' 'em unhappy ter take away their work, an' insutin' 'em if yeh tried ter pay 'em."

"But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!" said Hermione. "And we heard he's asking for wages now!"

"Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin' there isn't the odd elf who'd take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of 'em ter do it - no, nothin' doin', Hermione."  
Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket. By half-past five it was growing dark, and we decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast - and, more importantly, the announcement of the school champions.

"I'll come with yeh," said Hagrid, putting away his darning. "Jus' give us a sec."  
Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for something inside it. We didn't pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached our nostrils.

Coughing, Ron said, "Hagrid, what's that?" 

"Eh?" said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. "Don' yeh like it?"

"Is that aftershave?" said Hermione in a slightly choked voice.

"It's quite strong." I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face. 

"Er - eau de cologne," Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. "Maybe it's a bit much," he said gruffly. "I'll go take it off, hang on..."  
He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window.

"Eau de cologne?" said Hermione in amazement. "Hagrid?"

"And what's with the hair and the suit?" said Harry in an undertone.

"Look!" said Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window. Hagrid had just straightened up and turned 'round. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to our feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn't spot us, we peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. We couldn't hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression the four of us had only ever seen him wear once before -when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert.

"Merlin, Hagrid fancies her!" I gasped. 

"He's going up to the castle with her!" said Hermione indignantly. "I thought he was waiting for us!"  
Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beaux-batons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides. 

"Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record - bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton," Ron said.   
We let ourselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind us. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing our cloaks more closely around ourselves, we set off up the sloping lawns.  


"I'm sorry about earlier, Ophelia," Harry said shyly. "I know not all Slytherins are bad." 

"That's okay Harry I understand," I responded. 

"Ooh, it's them, look!" Hermione whispered.  
The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them. Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around as he reached the front doors a little ahead of us and proceeded through them. When we entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George - clean-shaven again - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well. We parted ways and I sat down next to Krum and the Slytherin table as I had yesterday. 

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was our second feast in two days. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, I simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. I was so nervous but also excited. If Cedric was chosen as Hogwarts Champion I'd be proud of him but also worried. At the end of the day, there was no one better than Cedric to represent Hogwarts.   
  
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. 

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."  
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting... A few people kept checking their watches. Suddenly the flames inside the Goblet turned red. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.  


"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"Obviously." Pansy cheered as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Krum stood up gallantly and walked to the room behind the teachers' table.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"  
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"  
When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next... And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.  
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"YES!!!" I Screeched. Several Slytherins glared at me including Pansy. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real --" But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."

"Did - Did he just say, Harry Potter?" I asked my eyes wide with disbelief. Every single head in the Great Hall turned to look at Harry Potter, including mine.  
There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat. Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly. At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"  
Hermione lightly pushed Harry. He got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"Well... through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling. Harry moved off along the teachers' table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else. "You can all go off to bed now!"   
I stood quickly and made my way over to Hermione. "There's no way Harry but his name in the Goblet." 

"I know." Hermione agreed. "Ron doesn't seem to buy that though." She pointed in front of us where Ron was angrily storming out of the Great Hall. 

"This means one of two things." I whispered to her as we moved with the chattering crowd, "either someone wanted to give Hogwarts twice the chance or they wanted to put Harry in danger." 

"You don't really think someone put his name in to hurt him do you?" Hermione asked she seemed to be having a hard time believing this. 

"All I know is that we can't rule out that possibility," I answered.   
When I got to the Slytherin common room almost everyone was gathered there angrily discussing Harry becoming a champion. 

"There she is!" Pansy yelled pointing at me and before I could even think to respond large hands were grabbing me and pulling me to the center of the common room. 

"You're friends with Potter." Warrington, the guy Slytherin house wanted to be the Hogwarts champion, approached me. 

"So what?" I spat. 

"Did you help him get his name in there and trick the Goblet?" He questioned angrily. 

"Of course not!" I yelled. "He didn't put his name in!" 

"Oh please," Pansy shouted at me. "Of course he put his name in." 

"Potter always breaks the rules," Draco added. 

"Draco! I didn't have anything to do with this!" I growled. "Let me go!" 

"Malfoy isn't in charge here." Warrington barked. "You're going to tell us how Potter put his name in the Goblet." 

"YOU IDIOTS! DID YOU SEE HIS FACE? HE LOOKED TERRIFIED, IS THAT THE FACE YOU WOULD MAKE IF YOU SUCCESSFULLY BROKE THE RULES AND GOT CHOSEN!?" I screamed. "HE COULD DIE! HE MAY HAVEN BROKEN RULES IN THE PAST BUT IT WAS NEVER FOR SELFISH REASONS!"  
Pansy smacked me hard across the face. Everyone went silent. 

"Let her go." Draco broke the silence. "I said let her go!"   
Whoever was holding on to me let me go and I ran to the entrance of the common room. I left tears slowly started falling from my face as I ran up several flights of stairs to the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor. 

"Pine fresh." I panted and the door creaked open. 

"Ophelia?" Moaning Myrtle floated over to me as I hid under one of the various sinks. 

"Myrtle, could I be alone right now?" I asked softly. 

"I'd say yes but Draco is here." She answered and I looked up.   
Draco was panting just like me and he slowly moved closer to me. He didn't say anything, just crouched down in front of me. He was too tall to fit under the sinks. 

"Are you okay?" He finally spoke. 

"Do I look okay?" I snapped. 

"Right, that was a dumb question." He sighed rubbing his temples. 

  
The next morning I met with Harry and Hermione. It seemed that, while it was beyond obvious to us that Harry didn't put his name into the Goblet, no one else seemed to agree with us not even Ron. I had never before seen Harry quite so irritable and anxious until today. Hermione and I had him write to Sirius so that he would find out through him rather than the Daily Profit. I truly felt sorry for Harry, everyone seemed to be angry with him, other than his house of course. The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Slytherins were, of course, being extra cross with Harry as well so Hagrid's class was no longer something to look forward to for Harry. 

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy from Harry. 

"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes."And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry - you come here an' help me with this big one..."   
Harry went off with Hargird while the rest of the class widely scattered out with our skrewts, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs - but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control. Every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.

"Please don't blast off, please don't blast off..." I repeated under my breath as I carefully trudged behind my skrewt.   


The next few days were some of Harry's worst at Hogwarts as he explained it to me and Hermione. Harry had told us he hoped the Ravenclaws would find it in themselves to support Harry just as much as Cedric but most Ravenclaws seemed to think that he had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name. Aside from spending extra time with Harry to try and cheer him up, I was frequenting Cedric more often as well.   
Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. This made me happy, even if it was just because he fit the description of a champion so well I was glad to see Cedric getting the attention he deserved. 

Usually, double potions was my favorite class at Hogwarts but with the Slytherins amplifying their distaste for Harry and Snape seemingly punishing him more frequently I was not looking forward to it today. When I arrived with Hermione and Harry at Snape's dungeon after lunch, we found a large group of Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. In luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage the badges read:  
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY-- THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

"Like them, Potter?" Malfoy asked loudly as we approached. "And this isn't all they do - look!"  
  
He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:  
POTTER STINKS!

The Slytherins around us howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around us. 

"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."  
Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.

"Want one, Granger?" Malfoy asked, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."  
I saw Harry reach for his wand out of the corner of my eye so I lightly pushed him back and smacked Malfoy's hand down. 

"Grow up," I said calmly before ripping his badge off, creating a hole in his robes. 

"What's going on here?" Snape questioned as he walked up to us. 

"Nothing professor, we were just discussing today's lesson," I answered not taking my eyes off of Malfoy.   
I drug Hermione and Harry with me as I followed after snape into the classroom. Instead of taking my usual seat next to Malfoy, I sat with the two of them.

"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..."  
I tried to pay attention to what Snape was saying but all I could only think about how I never wanted to speak to Draco Malfoy again. And then a knock on the dungeon door brought my attention back to real-time. It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at in my direction most likely at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" said Snape curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished." Colin went pink. 

"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . ." Harry became visibly uncomfortable when at Colin's last sentence. 

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir - he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Cohn. "All the champions..."

"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!"  
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. I never quite understood why Snape always had such a bad attitude towards Harry.   


I spent the rest of the days leading up to the first task with Cedric Diggory or in the library. Ron and Harry's lack of communication with each other was frustrating for me and Hermione but unlike her, I decided to distance myself from both of them until they work it out. Hanging out with your best friends when two of them refuse to talk to each other is worse than hanging out with someone you hate. Though, I never realized how much time I spent with them and Draco until I stopped. I would catch Draco looking at me but other than that we had no interaction whatsoever. I made sure that he never had the chance to approach me outside of our shared classes.   
  
"Ced, you really don't need to come with me." I reminded him for the tenth time. 

"O, I know. I want to come." he sighed. "You've always helped me anytime I've needed it without question... now it's my turn." 

"I don't need help though and people will talk about you if you are seen here with me." I groaned. My second year at Hogwarts Cedric and his father bought me my own broom after I made the Quidditch team and he gave it to me in front of the entire school after dinner. Every house including his own criticized him for it and the Slytherins made fun of him endlessly. Ever since then I made him promise we would only meet in private while at Hogwarts. 

"I'm not worried about that, besides I'm Hogwarts Champion... everyone loves me right now," Cedric said proudly. 

"Fine." I huffed. "But if someone so much as looks at you funny while we're in here you're leaving and I'm jinxing them."   
Cedric smiled and ruffled my hair as we walked into the library together. My suspicions about Moody and Karkaroff grew stronger and apparently Cedric had noticed so I ended up telling him about everything. He told me that I might be being a little paranoid but that either way he'd support me in finding our more.   


Sunday morning after breakfast Hermione seemed very rushed to speak with me. 

"Ophelia, I think your suspicions may be confirmed about Karkaroff!" She whispered to me as we sat in the library together. 

"What? What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Harry spoke with Sirius last night," Hermione answered. "Sirius told him that Karkaroff was in Azkaban with him and Moody put him there!" 

"Karkaroff was in Azkaban?! What for?" I questioned.  
She stopped, looked around, and leaned closer to me. "He was a death eater." 

"What! Why is he not still in there then???" 

"Sirius said that he was able to get out by selling out a bunch of other death eaters and convincing the ministry that he learned from his mistake." 

"Hermione, this means Harry could really be in danger here." I stared at her. 

"I know." She looked away. "But Sirius said that Karkaroff wouldn't try anything unless he knew you-know-who would be able to protect him. I think the most important issue is helping Harry survive the Dragons in the first task." 

"Dragons?!" I blurted before quickly covering my mouth and whispering, "The first task is to fight a dragon??" 

"Not exactly. Charlie said that they have to get past them." 

"Dragons are beautiful but they can be extremely dangerous, even Charlie has gotten hurt before." 

"Right well Sirius told Harry there was a simple spell to help him but he didn't have time to tell him what the spell was. Can you meet Harry and me here after dinner?" Hermione asked hopefully. 

"Yeah, of course."   
  
The three of us pulled down every book we could find on dragons, and we set to work searching through the large pile. 

"Talon-clipping by charms. .. treating scale-rot... .' This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy." Hermione huffed. "Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate... .' But Sirius said a simple one would do it." 

"Let's try some simple spellbooks, then," said Harry, throwing aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.

"Good idea." I nodded. Harry got up and collected a stack of simple spellbooks. 

"Well, there are Switching Spells. . . but what's the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous..... The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide... I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven't got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall. . . unless you're supposed to put the spell on yourself?" Hermione's nerves were clearly getting to her. "Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they're not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class, I only know about them because I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers. . . ."

"Hermione," Harry said, through gritted teeth, "will you shut up for a bit, please? I'm trying to concentrate."  
Finally, the three of us sat in silence flipping through book after book reading spell after spell. We had been sitting there for about an hour before Hermione spoke again. 

"Oh no, he's back again, why can't he read on his stupid ship?" she said irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the three of us, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. "Malfoy too? " 

"Why don't we continue our searching in our dorms," I suggested rising from my seat. 

"Ophelia, can I speak with you before we go?" Harry whispered to me. 

"Uh, sure," I answered. 

"Can you tell Cedric about the dragons...he's the only champion that doesn't know." 

"Yeah, I was planning on telling him anyway," I answered.   
  
The next day I stopped Cedric on his way to charms class. 

"Cedric!" I called. He stopped, looked at me, and told his friend to go on ahead. 

"Hi, O," He said happily. 

"Cedric." Cedric's face grew serious we only addressed each other formally around certain students. "Harry found out what the first task is... he told me so I could tell you." 

"That's a bit odd of him." 

"If you knew him better you'd know that's how he is," I answered playing nervously with my fingers. "Dragons, Cedric each champion has to get past their own dragon."   
Cedric stared at me. I could see the panic flickering in Cedric's gray eyes. 

"Are you sure?" Cedric said in a hushed voice.

"I'm positive... Harry wouldn't lie." 

"But how did he find out? We're not supposed to know..." 

"Through an older friend. That's all I can tell you." I knew that if someone overheard me tell him that Hagrid told Harry, Hagrid could get in trouble. "But you and Harry are not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now - Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too. I've got to go now, I'll see you later."   
  
The following morning the atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure - though of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there. Any excitement I had prior was gone and replaced with nervousness so strong you'd think I was one of the champions in the tournament. The day seemed to pass unnaturally fast and before I knew it I was walking to the arena with Hermione and Ron. 

"I didn't get to wish Harry and Cedric good luck today." my voice came out shaky. 

"We could go see them..." Hermione suggested though I don't think she was expecting me to agree. The two of us raced over to the large tent where the champions were. We walked around the back and peeked in through a flap. The second my eyes landed on Cedric's pacing figure I pushed the flap open and enveloped him in a hug. 

"Cedric! Good luck!" I cried out. "Please be careful." 

"Don't worry O, I've got this." Cedric was trying hard not to sound nervous but his voice cracked on my nickname.   
FLASH! FLASH! 

"What's this? Young love for both of our Hogwarts champions?" At the sound of Rita Skeeter's voice, my body went rigid and I broke my hug with Cedric. 

"You have no business here," Krum spoke gruffly, approaching Rita and her photographer. "This tent is for Champions and their friends." 

"Yes, well we've got what we wanted anyway." Rita signaled her photographer and he snapped a picture of Krum and Fleur before exiting the tent. 

"I've got to go Ced," I stated before quickly planting a kiss on his cheek, with great difficulty (Cedric is certainly more than a foot taller than me). "For good luck."   
He grinned in response seeming a little less nervous. "Good luck Harry! Stick to your plan, you can do it."   
Hermione and I hurried out of the tent and into the arena. Ron had reluctantly agreed to save us seats in the Gryffindor section. Less than a minute after the two of us sat down a whistle blew. The crowd roared as Cedric emerged the enclosure and was now standing face-to-face with a Swedish Short-Snout whose flame can reduce bone to ash in a matter of seconds. 

"I - I think I'm going to be sick." I groaned, covering my mouth. 

"Just breathe, he's gonna be okay." Hermione tried to console me.   
I kept my eyes closed and listened to Bagman's commentary which ended up not being the best idea. 

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow" I peeked through my fingers but quickly shut them as blue flames left the dragon's nostrils. "He's taking risks, this one!" This time I couldn't bring myself to look. "Clever move - pity it didn't work!"

"Look, Ophelia!" Hermione shook my arm and I hesitantly moved my hands away from my eyes. Cedric had used transfiguration to turn a rock into a dog. I held my breath as the dragon moved toward the dog allowing Cedric to head for the golden egg. Right before Cedric reached the egg the dragon turned back to him and blew flames at him.

"CEDRIC!" I cried out as he continued towards the egg despite getting burned on the face. The dragon let out a deafening roar as Cedric snatched up the golden egg. Trainers rushed into the enclosure to subdue Cedric's dragon. 

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting.

"I have to go down there!" I explained to Hermione and Ron as I got up. I ran out of the stands and down to the enclosure entrance. "Cedric!" 

"Hi, O," Cedric smiled at me wincing slightly because of the burn. 

"Hi? You've been burned on the face by a dragon and you're saying hi?" I questioned pulling him along to the first aid tent. 

"I'm happy, happy to see you, happy to have gotten the egg, and happy to be alive." He explained. 

"I'm happy too." I sighed. 

"Dragons!" Madam Pomfrey spat, she was waiting at the mouth of the tent.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey." I greeted her as we went into the tent with her. 

"Your burn isn't that bad, we'll have this fixed up in no time!" She said as Cedric sat down on a bed in one of the cubicles. 

"See, you were worried for no reason, O." Cedric smiled and tapped my nose lightly. I couldn't help but think of how proud my dad would be to see us like this, all grown up and even closer than when we were younger. My dad always loved Cedric. 

"Say that once you get your good looks back." I sneered as Madam Pomfrey smeared orange paste over the right side of his face. 

"Wow." he gasped, "I'm hurt." Cedric and I sat there together laughing and talking until Mr. Diggory came into the tent. 

"I'll give you two some privacy." I excused myself and walked out of Cedric's cubicle. 

"There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told Hermione, bewildered.

"You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either Ron or Harry could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

"You two were driving her mad, with your idiotic fight!" I explained walking up to them.

"With your boyfriend were you?" Ron sneered at me. 

"I'm glad you two made up finally." I smiled ignoring Ron, "Sorry I didn't watch Harry, I'm sure you were brilliant." 

"That's alright, I understand." He answered. 

"Barking mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores..."

"Tell me how you do!" I called as the two boys walked out.   
Mr. Diggory left after a few minutes and Cedric walked over to the opening of the tent. 

"I've got to go back to the champions' tent." Cedric stated. 

"I'll go and wait for you," I said happily walking out of the tent with him. When we got to the tent I saw Ron presumably waiting for Harry. Cedric nodded at me and walked into the tent. 

"Ronald." I said walking up to him, "I missed your stupid mug being around." 

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?" Ron questioned, I only laughed in response.   
  
Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I went up to the Owlery that evening to find Pigwidgeon so that Harry could send Sirius a letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time we entered the Owlery Ron was saying that we ought to have suspected it all along.

"Fits, doesn't it?" he said. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch!" 

"Ron, you don't know if that's true." I scolded, "And don't forget that was only the first task. This is no time to feel relieved." 

"Ophelia is right, we have to make sure Harry survives the next two tasks." Hermione agreed. 

"Come here - I'll do it -" Ron spoke. Pigwidgeon was so over-excited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg. "There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I'm serious." 

Hermione leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron. "Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament," she said seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" said Ron. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime." He threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. Pigwidgeon plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual - Harry apparently hadn't been able to resist giving Sirius a blow-by-blow account of exactly how he had swerved, circled, and dodged the Horntail. We watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, "Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

"Haven't you just ruined the surprise part?" I questioned him completely dumbfounded. 

"Oh, who cares." Ron waved me off. 

"Whatever Ron." I groaned and turned to Harry, "Just be sure to tell me what's in the egg once you open it, yeah?"   
  



	3. Chapter 3

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty, though the castle always was in winter, I was glad for its fires and thick walls. Especially when I passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Hagrid, I noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the comer of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as we were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed our wits about them.  
  
"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an see if they fancied a kip... we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes."  
There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently, their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends; their stings and their suckers, combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things any of us had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets. "We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."  
But the skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, "Don panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead - had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; me, Ron, Harry, and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together we managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt was left.   
"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won hurt any o' the others!"  
  
"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.

"Well, well, well. . . this does look like fun."  
Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm. Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.  
  
"Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.  
  
"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.  
Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.  
  
"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.  
  
"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.  
  
"Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?"  
I noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid's wild black beard. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they. Harry?"  
  
"What? Oh yeah . . . ouch . . . interesting," said Harry as she stepped on his foot.  
  
"Ah, you're here. Harry!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. "So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him.  
  
"Lovely," said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid.  
I noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek). Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.  
  
"This is o'ny me second year," said Hagrid.

"Lovely... I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experiences with magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots."

"They're called Blast-ended-Skrewts." I corrected in a huff, "And Hagrid hasn't got the time to entertain you, he's a busy guy." 

"I'm sure we could work out a time-" 

"If you are so set on having an interview with him come back later to talk about details." I snarled, "You are interrupting our education and I won't hesitate to speak with Dumbledore and Mr. Bagman." 

"Right." Rita snapped at me, "I'll come back later Hagrid!" She turned and walked back to where she came from. 

"Good one Ophelia." Harry high-fived me, "She would've twisted all of Hagrid's words. It could've been bad." 

After dinner, I stayed in the library trying to get some studying done but between Krum's fan club and Draco staring at me, it was near impossible. Just as I was going to leave Dean came in and walked up to me. 

"Hermione said she needs you in the kitchen." He said before promptly walking away. Dean was nicer to me but he still wasn't very fond of me much like his best 'friend' Seamus. I collected my things and headed to the Hogwarts kitchen. I had never been inside but I knew where it was and how to get in thanks to Fred and George. When I reached the panting of fruit I tickled the pear, it changed into a door handle and I walked in. Hundreds of House-elves bowed and greeted me as I walked in spotting Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Dobby. 

"Dobby - Dobby could," he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. "Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were - were - bad Dark wizards'."  
Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring - then he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Dobby!" I exclaimed scooping him up to stop him. 

"Ophelia Rose!" Dobby squealed happily and hugged me. 

"You just need a bit of practice," Harry said.  
  
"Practice!" squealed Winky furiously. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!"  
Winky use to be Mr. Crouch's elf before the events of the Quidditch World Cup.   
  
"They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" said Dobby defiantly. "Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!"

"Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!" moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her ... oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt and bawled.

"Winky," said Hermione firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -"  
  
"You is seeing my master?" said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt and goggling at Hermione. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yes," said Hermione, "he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Mr. Bagman comes too?" squeaked Winky, and to our great surprise, she looked angry again. "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!"  
  
"Bagman - bad?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously, "My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying... Winky - Winky keeps her master's secrets. ..."  
She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"

We couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. One of the other house-elves gave me a cup of tea. We left Winky to her crying and finished our tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.

"Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest. 

"Tell you what, Dobby," said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?"  
Dobby was delighted.  
"We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Ron told him, "but it'll go well with your tea cozy."

"Oh! I'll make you a nice pair of shoes too! How's that sound?" I asked happily. "They'll be your Christmas present." 

"A Christmas present? Dobby is happy." Dobby's eyes filled with tears of joy.   
As we prepared to take our leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon us, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry, Ron, and I loaded our pockets with cream cakes and pies.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. "See you, Dobby!"

"Thank you all for being such kind hosts." I grinned at them and patted the heads of two of the house-elves that had given me snacks.   
  
"Harry Potter . . . can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?" Dobby asked tentatively.  
  
" 'Course you can," said Harry, and Dobby beamed.

"You know what?" said Ron, once we had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!"  
  
"I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know," said Hermione, leading the way. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!"  
  
"Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky," said Harry.

The next day Snape had gathered all the Slytherins inside our common room for some type of announcement.   
"The Yule Ball will be held here as a part of the Triwizard Tournament." Snape spoke monotonously, "Only fourth-years and older can attend. Dress robes must be worn."   
I heard Pansy Parkinson and a few other girls squeal with excitement.   
"Do not embarrass this house or Hogwarts." Snape stated narrowing his eyes at Pansy, "that is all." 

So this is the ball I'll get to wear my mum's dress to? I'm really excited, though, I don't think I'll have quite as many boys ask me as my mum would've wanted. She had told me once when I was younger, that many boys other than my father wanted to ask her to her first dance but she was far too intimidating so they all chickened out. 

I suppose I didn't give anyone much chance though. Over the next week, I spent all my time outside of class in my bed finishing up Ron's Robes and my Dress. I finished them much sooner than I had expected but decided to wait and surprise Ron later. The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up. I noticed that they were the most stunning I had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. The week leading up to Christmas was strange for me and one of anger for Hermione. She had been asked to the ball by Krum but Ron wouldn't believe her when she said she had a date, kept trying to convince her to go with him, and boys were acting very strange around me. Nevile tried to talk to me but ended up puking slugs onto my robes, it was incredibly gross and every time I was with Cedric before we split ways he would try to ask me something but it would only come out as gibberish. 

The snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.  
  
"It is too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," we heard her saying grumpily as we left the Great Hall behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur. He was still embarrassed about asking her to the ball). "I will not fit into my dress robes!"  
  
"Oooh there's a tragedy," Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. "She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"  
  
"Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?" Ron asked.

He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, "I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me."

Christmas morning I was woken up by Dobby lightly poking my face.   
"Dobby?" I groaned. 

"Dobby is sorry! Dobby isn't meaning to upset Ophelia Rose." Dobby spoke quickly. 

"No, I'm not upset Dobby, don't worry." I yawned sitting up. "I've got your present wrapped." 

"Dobby has a gift for Ophelia too!" Dobby grinned and handed me a small ball. I opened it up to find mismatched wool socks. "Dobby is making them himself!" 

"They're lovely Dobby, thank you." I slipped the socks on. One of them was grass green with black snakes and the other was black with green stones. "Here." 

"Dobby is having no shoes, these are Dobby's first pair!" Dobby said happily opening up my gift. I knew he liked mismatched things so I made on shoe black and the other white. 

"Merry Christmas Dobby." I patted his head lightly. 

"Merry Christmas. Dobby must go now, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens." Dobby said, and he hurried out of the dormitory, waving good-bye. I moved to the end of my bed and saw that there was one more present than usual. It was box-shaped and wrapped in dark green wrapping paper. I lightly scooped it up and tore it open, inside there was a simple silver snake ring and a note:   
Meet me in the prefects' bathroom as soon as you see this. 

The ring was by far my favorite gift, I got the usual knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley, a book of advanced potion brewing from Hermione, and an assortment of gag gifts from the twins, a pair of green gloves from Ron, and a box of sweets from Harry. Cedric and I didn't get each other gifts, instead, we promised to spend a week together over the summer. I got up, got dressed, and headed for the bathroom. 

"Pine-fresh," I stated, I walked into the bathroom. "Hello?" 

"She's here!" I faintly heard Myrtle hiss. 

"Um, hello?" I called again, walking deeper into the bathroom. 

"Ophelia..." Draco emerged from a stall, "Let me talk to you and apologize." 

"No, I've had it. It's an endless cycle." I huffed, turning to walk away. 

"Please!" Draco grabbed my arm, "I really am sorry, and I have to ask you something!" 

"What?" I sighed. 

"Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" He asked letting go of my hand and looking down at my ring. 

"What?" I blinked. 

"I wanted to ask you earlier but I was waiting for my mum to send me that ring." He explained.   
Part of me wanted to say no because of all the bullying he's done recently but another part of me wants to say yes. When we're alone he's so kind to me so maybe it'll be enjoyable if I go with him. 

"Okay, I'll go with you." I answered, "Thank you for the ring."

"I knew you'd like it." He said proudly, "I picked it out myself." 

I met up with Hermione, Ron, and Harry for lunch, we exchanged thank yous for our gifts and talked. Lunch was magnificent, it included: at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers. We went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch me, Harry, and the Weasleys' snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o'clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

"I suppose I should do that as well." I said walking towards her, "Ron make sure you put the Robes on right." 

"What, you need three hours to get ready??" Ron questioned both Hermione and me, "Ophelia, you don't even have a date... the only one of us." 

"I'll have you know that I do indeed have a date!!!!" I barked. 

"So, did Draco finally ask you?" She asked as we walked into the castle. 

"Um, well... yes but what do you mean finally??" I raised my eyebrows. 

"He couldn't have been more obvious about wanting to ask you!" she laughed, "Every time someone tried to ask you he jinxed them! Cedric, Neville, a few boys from Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw boy." 

"He did?" 

"Yeah, and just like how Krum was watching me in the library Draco was doing the same to you." 

"So does this mean you're okay with me going with him?" I asked as we reached the marble stairs that lead to the Gryffindor common room. She stopped and turned to me. 

"I still don't like him, but if you're happy I'll support you."

I rushed to the Slytherin common room and into the girl's dormitories. I carefully pulled out my dress I had changed the neckline to be a flattering low square neckline that displayed my collar bones delicately. It took me almost an hour just to smooth out my long black hair and create the perfect braided crown. Once I was finished with my makeup I put my black heels on and slipped into my dress. I was looking myself over in the mirror when Pidwidgeon flew into the room. He flew around excitedly before I could finally get a hold of him. He had a small box much like the Draco had given me. I took it from him and gave him a small treat before he flew out. I opened the box to see a pair of large dangling emeralds for my ears. 

Ophelia   
Sorry, I'm getting these to you so late it took a while for me to decide on a pair.  
Bill Weasley 

I smiled and put the earing in. Finally, I felt like I was ready to meet up with Draco. I walked up the stairs, into the Slytherin common room where several boys were waiting in their dress robes for their dates to come down. I looked around until I finally spotted Draco. He was wearing black dress robes with satin accents and a white bowtie. His hair was neatly parted and combed to perfection. 

"Draco, you look nice," I said timidly. 

"Ophelia? Wow, you look really pretty." He responded, holding his arm out for me to grab, "You changed the dress." 

"Yeah, I thought I'd make it my own," I answered and slipped my arm around his. 

"It is very you." He chuckled lightly as we walked up the stairs of the dungeon. Crabbe and Goyle followed behind us grumbling something about not having dates. They were both wearing all black robes clearly and attempt to look like they belonged with Draco. I was very glad that Pansy Parkinson wasn't around yet, I'm sure if she were here she'd have something nasty to say. We entered the packed entrance hall and I immediately searched for Hermione. I sulked for a moment after not finding her. The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by Hermione in blue robes I tried to contain my excitement as Draco and I walked closer to her. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, more confidently. She was also smiling - rather nervously, much like me. 

"Hi, Ophelia!" She smiled brightly at me and slightly nodded at Draco. "You look amazing!" 

"Hello, Hermione! So do you!!" I stated happily, "Where's Krum?" 

"With the other champions." she pointed to where professor Mcgonagall was standing in the middle of all the champions. I saw Cedric, Cho Chang idling close behind him.   
Ron walked right past Hermione and me as the Great Hall doors opened up. Once everyone was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall led the champions and their partners in line in pairs. As they did, everyone in the Great Hall applauded and they started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting. 

"Thank you for being civil." I whispered to Draco, "I'm really glad I came with you."   
Draco only smiled at me before turning his attention back to the champions. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people. I caught Ron's eye as he was watching Hermione, his eyes narrowed, he glared at me and mouthed something I couldn't make out. I guessed it was something about Malfoy being my date. Meanwhile his date, Padma was looking sulky. Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron's as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Mr. Crouch, I suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley. 

"Bloody hell Mr. Crouch let that git sit in for him?" I muttered. 

"I thought you liked the Weasleys," Draco asked jokingly, and raised an eyebrow. 

"You know how I feel about living with Percy." I rolled my eyes at him.   
When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry then sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that gave me a deep urge to throw something at him. Draco pulled out a chair for me to sit in.   
"Thank you." I smiled my neck and face growing hot. He took a seat next to me, Crabbe and Goyle and a few other Slytherins sat down at our table as well. One of them was a rather kind seventh-year girl, who sat on my other side. There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of us. I picked up my menu and tentatively glanced around, but I didn't see any waiters. 

"Say what you want off the menu," Draco whispered to me. "Like this... steak and bacon."   
He spoke clearly at the golden plate in front of him and food suddenly appeared. 

"Wow." I marveled at the plate before ordering myself, "Steak and roasted potatoes."   
I glanced up at Hermione to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining - surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? - but for once, Hermione didn't seem to be thinking about S.P.E.W. She was deep in talk with Viktor Krum and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating. I was glad to see her enjoying herself. I looked around the Hall as I ate. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. I saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight. When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it. The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. All the lanterns at the students' tables went out leaving only the staff lanterns on the dance floor. The Weird Sisters picked up their instruments and struck up a slow, mournful tune. I watched the champions walk out onto the brightly lit dance floor. Soon after they began dancing Draco stood up. 

"Dance with me?" He asked holding out his hand. 

"Alright." I agree happily getting up and taking his hand.   
Draco lead me out onto the dance floor, lightly place one hand on my hip, and secured one of my hands in his while the other rested on his shoulder. I glanced around at the other students that were slowly joining. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby - I could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet - and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg. I turned back to Draco who had seemingly hadn't taken his eyes off of me. The final, quavering note from the bagpipe sounded and the Weird Sisters stopped playing. Applause filled the hall and shortly after the sisters started up again, this time with a much faster song. 

"Do you want to be closer to Krum and Granger?" Draco asked nodding his head gently in their direction. 

"Yes!" I said happily as we made our way over to dance with them. After dancing with them for two songs the boys suggested they go get us drinks, we happily agreed and made our way over to Harry and Ron who were sitting down. 

"Hot isn't it?" Hermione said as she sat down next to Harry fanning herself. I sat down next to her doing the same. "Viktor went to get us drinks." 

"Draco as well." I added, "They're both being quite the gentlemen."   
Hermione giggled at my statement. 

Ron gave her a withering look. "Viktor?" he said. "Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?"  
  
Hermione looked at him in surprise. "What's up with you?" she asked.

"If you don't know," said Ron scathingly, "I'm not going to tell you."  
Hermione stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged.  
  
"Ron, what - ?"  
  
"He's from Durmstrang!" spat Ron. "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You -you're -" Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione's crime, "fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing! Both of you! Malfoy is a slimy git that bullies everyone!" 

Hermione's mouth fell open.  
  
"Don't be so stupid!" she said after a moment. "The enemy! Honestly - who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"

"And I'll have you know Draco is doing his very best to be kind to Hermione!" I added. 

Ron chose to ignore this. "I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"  
  
"Yes, he did," said Hermione, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. "So what?"  
  
"What happened - trying to get him to join spew, were you?"  
  
"No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he - he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!" Hermione said this very quickly and blushed so deeply that she was the same color as Parvati's robes.  
  
"Yeah, well - that's his story," said Ron hastily.  
  
"And what's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Obvious, isn't it? He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with. . . . He's just trying to get closer to Harry - get inside information on him - or get near enough to jinx him -"  
Hermione looked as though Ron had slapped her. When she spoke, her voice quivered.  
  
"For your information, he hasn't asked me one single thing about Harry, not one -"  
  
Ron changed tack at the speed of light.  
  
"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions -"  
  
"I'd never help him work out that egg!" said Hermione, looking outraged. "Never. How could you say something like that - I want Harry to win the tournament. Harry knows that, don't you, Harry?"  
  
"You've got a funny way of showing it," sneered Ron.  
  
"This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!" said Hermione hotly.  
  
"No it isn't!" shouted Ron. "It's about winning!"

"Ron," said Harry quietly, "I haven't got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum -"  
But Ron ignored Harry too.  
  
"Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are," said Ron.  
  
"Don't call him Vicky!"  
Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.

"You're being a real dunderhead!" I growled at him, standing up "Just because you aren't having fun doesn't mean you get to ruin mine and Hermione's time too!" 

"Ophelia?" Draco questioned and I quickly turned around. 

"Vare is Herm-own-ninny?" Krum asked walking up next to Draco both of them holding two ButterBeers. 

"She went off that way," I stated, pointing in the direction she had run away. He quickly went off after her, I turned back to Ron. "Don't speak to me or Hermione until you've decided to stop being positively stupid."   
I took one of the better beers from Draco and we walked off together. 

"What was that about?" Draco asked as we searched for Viktor and Hermione. 

"Ron upset Hermione... saying that he's the enemy and only asked her here to get a chance to curse Harry." I explained, "Just being a real git." 

"I could give him worts if you'd like," Draco suggested, and I almost agreed. 

"That's okay I'll let Hermione get him back on her own," I answered, before, we sat down with Viktor and Hermione.   
The top table was now empty; Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall; Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. I quickly occupied myself in a conversation with Draco to distract myself from Karkaroff's absence. When the four of us finished our drinks we went back to dancing, occasionally engaging in small conversations. It was an odd thing, seeing Hermione and Draco in such close proximity with happy looks on their faces. The night passed by quickly slowly people left until there were only a handful of students left dancing. 

"It's almost midnight." Draco commented, "Do you want to go for a walk?" 

"I'd like that a lot," I answered, I had been eager to get a good look at the magic outside. 

The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as we went down the front steps, where we found ourselves surrounded by bushes; winding, ornamental paths; and large stone statues. I could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. We set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes. 

"This is beautiful," I said taking in the views. Draco lead me to a bench that was surrounded by roses and fairy lights. I sat down next to him and glanced up. "Draco, look at the stars." 

"See that right there." Draco pointed up at the sky, "That constellation that looks like a dragon or a snake..." 

"Yes, I see it," I said looking over at him he was wearing a smug smile. 

"That's Draco." He stated proudly.   
I snorted. 

"I promise I'm not laughing at your name, it's just the way you said it." I giggled.   
He lightly punched me in the arm. "It's actually really cool that you're named after a constellation." 

"Did you have fun tonight?" He asked getting serious again. 

"Yeah, a lot," I answered happily looking back up at the stars. 

"My mum was really happy when I told her I wanted to ask you to the ball, she likes you a lot you know. She wanted to get you some gaudy expensive ring but I told her that one would be more your taste." Draco said tapping the ring on my finger. 

"It's perfect." I stated, "very my style." 

"Who's there?" I looked up to see Snape, "Ah, Ms. Rose, Mr. Malfoy. The ball has ended." 

"Professor Snape, we'll be going then." Draco stood up acknowledging him. 

"Good night sir." I smiled at him and followed Draco back inside. 

The next day Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Ron and Harry wasted no time in telling Hermione and me about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione and I didn't find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did.  
  
"Well, I thought he must be," she said, shrugging. "I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible. . . . It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves. . . . It's just bigotry, isn't it?"

"I agree, I mean look at Remus Lupin. He's one of the best teachers we've ever had and he's very kind." I added. 

The snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that I couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm us up nicely, either by chasing us, or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire. When we arrived at Hagrid's cabin, however, we found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.  
  
"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked at us as we struggled toward her through the snow.  
  
"Who're you?" said Ron, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?"  
  
"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."  
  
"Where's Hagrid?" Harry repeated loudly.  
  
"He is indisposed," said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.   
"This way, please," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. We followed her, looking back over our shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill? 

"Indisposed???" I looked at Hermione, with worry. 

"What's wrong with Hagrid?" Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.  
  
"Never you mind," she said as though she thought he was being nosy.  
  
"I do mind, though," said Harry hotly. "What's up with him?"  
  
Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led us past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered. Many of the girls "ooooohed!" at the sight of the unicorn.  
  
"Oh it's so beautiful!" whispered Lavender Brown. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!"  
The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.  
  
"Boys keep back!" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it. ..."  
She led us, girls, slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching.

"Are you paying attention over there?" Professor Grubbly-Plank's voice carried over to the boys; us girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it.

That evening after dinner, the four of us left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. We knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered.  
  
"Hagrid, it's us!" Harry shouted, pounding on the door. "Open up!"  
Hagrid didn't answer. We could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. We hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.  
  
"What's he avoiding us for?" Hermione asked when we had finally given up and were walking back to the school. "He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?"  
But it seemed that Hagrid did care. We didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, we didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. The only good thing was that Draco did very well restraining himself from making any rude remarks about my friends or Hagrid. 

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going to go.  
  
"I just thought you'd want to take advantage of the common room being quiet," she said. "Really get to work on that egg."  
  
"Oh I - I reckon I've got a pretty good idea what it's about now," Harry answered.

"Have you really?" said Hermione, looking impressed. "Well done!"

Me, Ron, Hermione, and Harry left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As we passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, we saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.  
  
"He's mad!" said Harry, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing, it's January!"  
  
"It's a lot colder where he comes from," said Hermione. "I suppose it feels quite warm to him."  
  
"Yeah, but there's still the giant squid," said Ron. He didn't sound anxious - if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned.  
  
"He's really nice, you know," she said. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me."

"Besides, the giant-squid is very friendly," I added happily. I was quite excited to be going on a trip with my friends and I was hoping I would get some time to hang out with Cedric and maybe even Draco. 

Harry suggested a trip to the three broomsticks after we had been in and out of a few shops. The pub was as crowded as ever. We went up to the bar, ordered four butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta.   
  
"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" Hermione whispered suddenly. "Look!"  
She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and we all saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.  
It was indeed odd. That Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. We watched Bagman in the mirror. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw us, and stood up.  
  
"In a moment, in a moment!" we heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward us, his boyish grin back in place.  
  
"Harry!" he said. "How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going alright?"  
  
"Fine, thanks," said Harry.

"Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?" said Bagman eagerly. "You couldn't give us a moment, you three, could you?"  
  
"Er - okay," said Ron, and he, Hermione, and I went off to find a table. We pushed through the crowded bar to an empty table over in the corner. The three of us sat down and watched Harry talk with Bagman until he finally got up and walked over to join us. 

"What did he want?" Ron said the moment Harry had sat down.  
  
"He offered to help me with the golden egg," said Harry.  
  
"He shouldn't be doing that!" said Hermione, looking very shocked. "He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've already worked it out - haven't you?"  
  
"Er . . . nearly," said Harry.  
  
"Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!" said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving.

"Something tells me Dumbledore wouldn't care an awful lot," I muttered. 

"I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!" Hermione added.   
  
"He's not, I asked," said Harry.  
  
"Who cares if Diggory's getting help?" said Ron. 

"Don't be rude Ronald." I scolded, kicking him in the shin. 

"Ouch!" 

"Those goblins didn't look very friendly," said Hermione, sipping her butterbeer. "What were they doing here?"  
  
"Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman," said Harry. "He's still ill. Hasn't been into work."  
  
"Maybe Percys poisoning him," said Ron. "Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."  
  
Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look, and said, "Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch. . . . They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"It is a bit odd isn't it?" I questioned. 

"Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though," said Harry. "Maybe they need an interpreter."  
  
"Worrying about poor 'ickle goblins, now, are you?" Ron asked Hermione. "Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?"  
  
"Ha, ha, ha," said Hermione sarcastically. "Goblins don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?"  
  
"No," said Harry and Ron together.  
  
"Well, they're quite capable of dealing with wizards," said Hermione, taking another sip of butterbeer. "They're very clever. They're not like house-elves, who never stick up for themselves."

"Uh oh," Ron said, staring at the door.   
Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Harry had shown us the piece she'd written about Hagrid after he agreed to an interview despite our warnings. 

"How can she just waltz around happily enjoying her life knowing how her writing affects people," I grumbled in disbelief. We sat glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied with something.

"... didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights . .. what nonsense ... he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman... .' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo - we just need to find a story to fit it -"

"Trying to ruin someone else's life?" said Harry loudly.  
A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.  
  
"Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join- ?"  
  
"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," said Harry furiously. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?"  
Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.  
  
"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-"  
  
"Who cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouted. "There's nothing wrong with him!"

"Besides you didn't tell the whole truth!" I added hotly, "Hagrid is kind and would never even hurt a fly let alone a student!"   
The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing. 

Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know. Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?"

Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.  
"You horrible woman," she said, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman -"  
  
"Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl... not that it needs it -" she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.

"Why you-" I gritted my teeth. 

"Let's go," said Hermione, "c'mon. Harry - Ophelia - Ron . .."  
We left; many people were staring at us as we went. I glanced back as we reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table. 

"She'll be after you next, Hermione," said Ron in a low and worried voice as we walked quickly back up the street.  
  
"Let her try!" said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid ..."  
  
"You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter," said Ron nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you -"  
  
"My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!" said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all me, Harry, and Ron could do to keep up with her. The last time we had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!"

Breaking into a run, she led us all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin. The curtains were still drawn, and we could hear Fang barking as they approached.  
  
"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being -" 

The door opened. Hermione said, "About t-!" and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, smiling down at us.  
  
"We-er-we wanted to see Hagrid," said Hermione in a rather small voice.  
  
"Yes, I surmised as much," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you come in?"  
  
"Oh . . . um ... okay," said Hermione.

We went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment we entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang as I looked around. Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.  
  
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry and I both greeted him.   
Hagrid looked up.  
  
"'Lo," he said in a very hoarse voice.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, closing the door behind us, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?"

Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, "Hermione, Ophelia, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."  
  
"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said, staring at Hagrid. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry, Professor," he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.  
  
"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said. Harry," said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

"Er-right," said Harry sheepishly. "I just meant-Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that-woman-wrote about you?"  
Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.

"You're one of the kindest people any of us have met Hagrid!" I added, "Nothing anyone writes about you will ever change that."   
  
"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it -"  
  
"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time," said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"  
  
"Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!" said Hagrid croakily.  
  
"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said furiously. "Look at the Dursleys!"  
  
"An excellent point," said Professor Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery. . .."

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione quietly, "please come back, we really miss you."  
Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.  
  
Dumbledore stood up. "I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."  
Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang's ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. 

Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, "Great man, Dumbledore . . . great man..."  
  
"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "Ar, he's righ', o' course - yeh're all righ'...I bin stupid . .. my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'...." More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, "Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."  
  
Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth - he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed ... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum ... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year. . . ."  
"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job.  
. . trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances ... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren' ... well... all tha' respectable. But some don understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh . . . there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say - I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones . . . I'll give her big bones."  
  
We looked at one another nervously, but Hagrid continued like he hadn't said anything odd. 

"Yeh know wha, Harry?" he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, "when I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!"  
He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, "Yeh know what I'd love. Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"  
  
"Great," said Harry. "Really great."  
Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile.  
  
"Tha's my boy. . . you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat 'em all" 

After Harry had informed Hermione, Ron, and me about what happened with Moody, Snape, and Crouch, time passed by even quicker than before the first task. I skipped every meal to be in the library, but Hermione, Cedric, and Draco took turns smuggling me food. I was now studying every creature in the school's lake and anything that could help Harry breathe underwater, anything I could find on death eaters, and Voldemort's time. Cedric visited me more often than anyone else sitting quietly across from me doing his homework and putting up my books as I finished with them. Every time Draco would come in while Cedric was here he'd pick a fight with him and I'd end up having to tell them that I'd find somewhere to study that they couldn'd find me if they didn't shut up. 

"Come on Ophelia, it's time for class with the oaf Hagrid." Draco started, "Hate to break up your little date Diggory but she has more important things to tend to." 

"Shut it Malfoy." I groaned, "Bye Cedric I'll see you later... go find Cho." 

Whether Hagrid was trying to make up for the Blast-Ended Skrewts, or because there were now only two skrewts left, or because he was trying to prove he could do anything that Professor Grubbly-Plank could. We didn't know, but Hagrid had been continuing her lessons on unicorns ever since he'd returned to work. It turned out that Hagrid knew quite as much about unicorns as he did about monsters, though it was clear that he found their lack of poisonous fangs disappointing. Today he had managed to capture two unicorn foals. Unlike full-grown unicorns, they were pure gold. Parvati and Lavender went into transports of delight at the sight of them, and even Pansy Parkinson had to work hard to conceal how much she liked them.  
  
"Easier ter spot than the adults," Hagrid told the class. "They turn silver when they're abou' two years old, an' they grow horns at aroun four. Don' go pure white till they're full-grown, 'round about seven. They're a bit more trustin when they're babies ... don mind boys so much... C'mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat 'em if yeh want. . . give 'em a few o' these sugar lumps..." 

By the evening before the second task, I could tell Harry was getting very worried. He sat with me, Hermione, and Ron in the library as the sunset outside, tearing feverishly through page after page of spells, we were hidden from one another by the massive piles of books on the desk in front of each of us. I grew excited every time I saw the word "water" on a page, but more often than not it was merely "Take two pints of water, half a pound of shredded mandrake leaves, and a newt..."  
  
"I don't reckon it can be done," said Ron's voice flatly from the other side of the table. "There's nothing. Nothing. Closest was that thing to dry up puddles and ponds, that Drought Charm, but that was nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake."

"There must be something," Hermione muttered, moving a candle closer to her. Her eyes were so tired she was poring over the tiny print of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes with her nose about an inch from the page. "They'd never have set a task that was undoable."

"They have," said Ron. "Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your head in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out. Best you can do, mate."  
  
"There's a way of doing it!" Hermione said crossly. "There just has to be!"  
She seemed to be taking the library's lack of useful information on the subject as a personal insult; it had never failed her before.

"Maybe we just aren't looking in the right books." I sighed. 

"I know what I should have done," said Harry, resting, face-down, on Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts. "I should've learned to be an Animagus like Sirius."  
An Animagus was a wizard who could transform into an animal.  
  
"Yeah, you could've turned into a goldfish any time you wanted!" said Ron.  
  
"Or a frog," yawned Harry. He was exhausted, we all were.

"It takes years to become an Animagus, and then you have to register yourself and everything," said Hermione vaguely, now squinting down the index of Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions. "Professor McGonagall told us, remember... you've got to register yourself with the Improper Use of Magic Office ...what animal you become, and your markings, so you can't abuse it..."  
  
"Hermione, I was joking," said Harry wearily. "I know I haven't got a chance of turning into a frog by tomorrow morning...."  
  
"Oh this is no use," Hermione said, snapping shut Weird Wizarding Dilemmas. "Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?"

"I wouldn't mind," said Fred Weasley's voice. "Be a talking point, wouldn't it?"  
The four of us looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves.  
  
"What're you two doing here?" Ron asked.  
  
"Looking for you," said George. "McGonagall wants you, Ron. And two, Hermione, and Rosie."  
  
"Why?" said Hermione, looking surprised.

"Dunno ... she was looking a bit grim, though," said Fred.

"You're sure she wants me as well?" I questioned furrowing my eyebrows.   
  
"Yep, we're supposed to take you down to her office," said George.  
We stared at Harry. Was Professor McGonagall about to tell us off? Perhaps she'd noticed how much we were helping Harry when he ought to be working out how to do the task alone?

"We'll meet you back in the common room," Hermione told Harry as she got up to go - she much like Ron and I looked very anxious. "Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?"

"Right," said Harry uneasily.

"I'll see you tomorrow Harry, try and get some sleep." I waved and walked after Ron, Hermione, and the twins. "Fred, George, you really don't know why she wants to see us?"

"Nope," Fred answered. 

"You know we'd tell you if we did, Rosie," George added.   
When we reached McGonagall's office George knocked twice before leading us in. 

"Thank you boys, you can go." professor McGonagall said standing up. The twins walked out of the office closing the door behind them. "Have a seat you three, we'll have to wait for Dumbledore." 

"Dumbledore? Professor are we in some kind of trouble?" I asked sitting down in front of her desk. 

"Trouble?" McGonagall lightly chuckled, "Of course not." 

We sat quietly until Dumbledore got to McGonagall's Office.   
"I'm sure you three know about the next task coming up for the Triwizard." Dumbledore spoke briskly, "Part of the clue says 'We've taken what you'll sorely miss, An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took,' to explain it shortly you three are what the champions will sorely miss. I will put you under a deep sleep and you will be carefully placed at the bottom of the lake where your champion will have to retrieve you. I assure you no harm will come to you, you will be unable to drown and will only wake up once you have reached the surface." 

The three of us looked at each other, at Dumbledore, McGonagall and back at each other.   
"There's absolutely no chance of us getting hurt?" I questioned. 

"Correct, your safety is our utmost priority." McGonagall answered. 

"Alright." I answered arily, "Let's get on with it then." 

"Are you first Ced?" I asked happily opening my eyes. Cedric and I were dripping wet in the middle of the lake, he had an arm secured tightly around my waist and was using his other arm and his feet to keep us above the water. I looked up at the cheering Hogwarts students, the most excited were the Hufflepuffs. 

"Yep, we're first place, O!" Cedric responded smiling brightly at me. "You can swim right?" 

"Yes, I can." I answered. 

"Good." He answered, removing his arm from my waist.   
I started swimming with Cedric to the bank where the judges and students were waiting for us. 

"Ah, swimming in these robes is a bit difficult." I groaned. "I'm much heavier."   
I envied the bright yellow Hufflepuff tank top Cedric was wearing. 

"We're almost there." Cedric said in an encouraging voice. I tried to distract myself from the extra weight by looking into the crowds while swimming. Two faces almost completely red with anger were staring at me one of them was Draco and the other was Cho Chang, Cedric's girlfriend. 

"Um, I think I'm gonna go back to the bottom of the lake." I said as Cedric stood up on the bank. 

"What?" Cedric asked raising his eyebrows and reaching out his arm for me to grab, "Don't be silly, O get up here." 

"I really don't want to." I groaned grabbing Cedric's had and allowing him to help me up on the bank. The second I stood up Madam Pomfrey was in front of us, she wrapped us both in a thick blanket and led us to a small table were she had prepared tea. We sat down and watched the lake for signs of the other champions. "Ced? You weren't surprised to see me under there?" 

"I was surprised that the "thing" we'd miss the most ended up being the person we'd miss the most but I wasn't suprieds that it was you." He answered not missing a beat. 

"If you would've known you wouldn't have expected Cho?" I asked still looking out at the lake. 

"What? Of course not." Cedric laughed, "You've been my best friend since you were born, Cho and I have only been dating for a little over a month... I'd miss her but not as much as you." 

"Oh, I see." I said happy with his explanation.   
Soon Fleur, Krum, and Hermione joined us on the bank. Fleur was wrapped in a blanket but was off with Madame Maxime while Krum and Hermione were seated with Cedric and I. A few minutes passed before we finally spotted Harry, Ron, and a little girl who judging by her hair and Fleur's reaction must have been her sister. Harry and Ron pulled Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching, twenty merpeople accompanying them like a guard of honor, singing their horrible screechy songs. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Ron from the bank as they swam nearer, but Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, went splashing out to meet them. Meanwhile Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.  
  
"Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"

I saw Harry try to speak but I couldn't make anything out. Percy seized Ron and was dragging him back to the bank ("Gerroff, Percy, I'm all right!"); Dumbledore and Bagman were pulling Harry upright; Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime and was hugging her sister.  
  
"It was ze grindylows . . . zey attacked me ... oh Gabrielle, I thought... I thought.. ."  
  
"Come here, you," said Madam Pomfrey. She seized Harry and pulled him over to me and the others, wrapped him tightly in a blanket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears.  
  
"Harry, well done!" Hermione cried. "You did it, you found out how all by yourself!"  
  
"Well -" said Harry. I followed Harry's gaze and saw Karkaroff watching him. He was the only judge who had not left the table; the only judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief that Harry, Ron, and Fleur's sister had got back safely. "Yeah, that's right," said Harry, raising his voice slightly. 

"You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," said Krum.

Hermione brushed away the beetle impatiently and said, "You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry. . . . Did it take you ages to find us?"  
  
"No ... I found you okay...."

Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. I made a mental note to ask him to teach me if he ever had some free time. Finally he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think." The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy's clutches; she led him over to usa, gave him a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.  
  
"Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then she turned to Harry. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said half-heartedly.

Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek, then said to Ron, "And you too-you 'elped -"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, looking extremely hopeful, "yeah, a bit -"

Fleur swooped down on him too and kissed him. Hermione looked simply furious, but just then, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside us, making us all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. . . . Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points." Applause from the stands.  
  
"I deserved zero," said Fleur throatily, shaking her head.  
  
"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; I saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Good Job, Ced." I smiled at him and patted him on the back.   
  
"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."  
Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.  
  
"Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."  
Ron and Hermione both gave Harry half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks and I rolled my eyes, that is exactly the type of behavior I'd expect from him.   
  
"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However . . . Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points."  
He was now tying for first place with Cedric. Ron and Hermione, caught by surprise, stared at Harry, then laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd.  
  
"There you go. Harry!" Ron shouted over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all -you were showing moral fiber!"  
Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen.  
  
"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."  
It was over. I thought happily, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and us hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes... it was over, the boys had got through... I didn't have to worry about them again until June the twenty-fourth. 

As we entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned our hands and faces every time we went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again.  
Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one according to Harry.  
Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.  
  
"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" said Ron incredulously.  
  
"It looks like it, doesn't it?" said Hermione.  
  
"I can't believe him," said Harry tensely, "if he's caught. . ."  
  
"Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" said Ron. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore."

"Have faith in him, he's smart." I added. 

The four of us walked down to the Dungeons for double potions. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something I couldn't see and sniggering heartily. Pansy's pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as we approached.  
  
"There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart.  
We now saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands - Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.  
"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

We headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as we have since the Potter stinks badges were made. Hermione and I sat together and Ron and Harry sat together. Once Snape had turned his back on us to write up the ingredients of today's potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what we were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer to us.  
A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:  
Harry Potter's Secret Heartache A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss. Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."  
However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest. "She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it." Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.  
  
"I told you!" Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of- of scarlet woman!"  
  
Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. "Scarlet woman?" she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.  
  
"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red.  
  
"If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. "What a pile of old rubbish."  
She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and we started unpacking the ingredients we would need for our Wit-Sharpening Potion. I was glad Hermione wasn't letting them get to her but if anyone thought I was going to let Pansy Parkinson get away with calling my best friend ugly and acusing her of using a love potion they'd be sorely mistaken.   
  
"There's something funny, though," said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known . . . ?"  
  
"Known what?" said Ron quickly. "You haven't been mixing up Love Potions, have you?"  
  
"Don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just. . . how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?"  
Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron's eyes.  
  
"What?" said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.  
  
"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," Hermione muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to -"  
  
"Ah, so that's what that was all about." I said grinning at her. 

"And what did you say?" said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione.  
  
"And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went on, going so red now that I could almost feel the heat coming from her, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there ... or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task..."  
  
"And what did you say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.  
  
"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to-"  
  
"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is. Miss Granger," said an icy voice right behind us, and all four of us jumped, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."  
Snape had glided over to our desk while we were talking. The whole class was now looking around at us.   
"Ah... reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor... oh but of course ..." Snapes black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..."  
The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an strange smile curled Snape's thin mouth.

"Actually sir." I said meekly, "The magazine is mine, I though Harry should see it so I brought it to class with me."   
Al the laugher came to a halt. 

"How disappointing." Snape narrowed his eyes at me, "Ten points from Slytherin. Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Miss Rose by Malfoy and Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Hermione and I stood up and collected our things. Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his cauldron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry unload his cauldron. I calmly walked across to Draco and sat down. 

"Much better to be sitting by me isn't it?" Draco asked proudly. 

"Oh hush." I laughed airly. Truly I had only ever moved away from Draco because I was angry with him but since the ball he hasn't said a word to Harry, Ron, or Hermione around me and even stopped wearing his 'potter stinks' badge. 

We left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time we arrived in Hogsmeade, all four of us had taken off our cloaks and thrown them over our shoulders. The food Sirius had told us to bring was in Harry's bag; we had sneaked a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table. I didn't tell the others but in my bag I clean black robes and a brush for Sirius, if he wasn't getting food he wasn't getting anything else either. I decided not to bring this to Harry's attention, worried he would try to fit the entire castel in his bag.   
We went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where we had fun selecting the most lurid socks we could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly. Then, at half past one, we made our way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village. We had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading us out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; we were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then we turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar... I first met Sirius in this form well before I knew he was actually a person he had approached me while I was crying in the dark forest. After that first day I continued to meet him in the forest everyday to bring him food and pet him.   
  
"Hello, Sirius," said Harry when they had reached him.  
The black dog sniffed Harry's bag eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from us across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. We climbed over the stile and followed. Sirius led us to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but me, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were soon out of breath. We followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour we climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of my bag cutting into my shoulders.  
Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when we reached the place where he had vanished, we saw a narrow fissure in the rock. We squeezed into it and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of us. All four of us bowed low to him, and after regarding us imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry, however, was looking at the black dog, which had just turned into his godfather.  
  
Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been, and it was untidy and matted. He looked very thin.  
  
"Chicken!" he said hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor.  
Harry pulled open his bag and handed over the bundle of chicken legs and bread.  
  
"Thanks," said Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself."  
He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly.  
  
"Sirius before we leave today we'll decide a time for me drop you off food in the dark forest." I said sterly, "No argument." 

"Sheesh, more and more like your mum everyday." Sirius chuckled. 

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" Harry asked.  
  
"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray." He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry's face, said more seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter... well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."  
He nodded at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and Ron picked them up and unfolded them . Harry, however, continued to stare at Sirius.  
  
"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"  
  
"You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," said Sirius, shrugging, and continuing to devour the chicken leg.  
Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets I moved closer to Harry so I could read with him. There were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing-Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved.  
I scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out: hasn't been seen in public since November. . . house appears deserted. . . St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment. . . Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness. . . .  
  
"They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here. . . ."  
  
"Personally, I don't believe he's sick." I said with a hint of annoyance. 

"My brothers Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informed Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."  
  
"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," said Harry slowly, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet. ..."  
  
"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" said Hermione, an edge to her voice. She was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up Sirius's chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him."  
  
"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looked interested.  
  
"Crouch sacked his house-elf?"  
  
"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry, and he launched into the story of the Dark Mark's appearance, and Winky being found with Harry's wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch's fury. When Harry had finished, Sirius was on his feet again and had started pacing up and down the cave.  
  
"Let me get this straight," he said after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. "You first saw the elfin the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"  
  
"Right," we confirmed together.  
  
"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?"  
  
"No," said Harry. "I think he said he'd been too busy."  
  
Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. Then he said, "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"  
  
"Erm . . ." Harry thought hard. "No," he said finally. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stared at Sirius. 

"Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark may have stolen Harry's wand while we were in the Top Box?" I questioned rasing my eyebrows.   
  
"It's possible," said Sirius.  
  
"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted.  
  
"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," said Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. "Who else was sitting behind you?"  
  
"Loads of people," said Harry. "Some Bulgarian ministers ... Cornelius Fudge..."  
  
"The Malfoys... they were right behind me." I muttered solmley. 

"The Malfoys!" said Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak tossed his head nervously. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"  
  
"Anyone else?" said Sirius.  
  
"No one," said Harry.  
  
"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminded him.  
  
"Oh yeah . . ."  
  
"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, still pacing. "What's he like?"  
  
"He's okay," said Harry. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."  
  
"Does he, now?" said Sirius, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?"  
  
"Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry.  
  
"Hmm," said Sirius, looking thoughtful.  
  
"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius.  
  
"Remember?" she said to us.  
  
"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" said Ron. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."  
  
"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"  
  
"Come off it," said Ron incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"  
  
"It's more likely he did it than Winky," said Hermione stubbornly.  
  
"Hermione." I spoke firmly, "Non of us think Winky did it but It's hardly fair to try and pin it on Mr. Bagman." 

"Told you," said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, "told you she's obsessed with house -"  
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.  
  
"When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"  
  
"Went to look in the bushes," said Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there."  
  
"Of course," Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, "of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf... and then he sacked her?"  
  
"Yes," said Hermione in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled -"  
  
"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" said Ron.  
  
Sirius shook his head and said, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."  
He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard. "All these absences of Barty Crouch's ... he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too. . . . It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."  
  
"D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry.  
  
Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when I first met him oficcially, the night when we still believed Sirius to be a murderer.  
  
"Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."  
  
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.  
  
"Of course he would make that type of decision." I seethed. 

"You're kidding!" said Harry.  
  
"No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"  
We shook our heads.   
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," said Sirius. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side . . . well, you wouldn't understand . . . you're too young. ..."  
  
"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?"  
A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face.  
  
"All right, I'll try you. . . ." He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing . . . the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere . . . panic . . . confusion . . . that's how it used to be. Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. ..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."  
  
"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.  
  
"Yep," said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while . . . gotten to know his own son."  
He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.  
  
"Was his son a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"No idea," said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."  
  
"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.  
Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.  
  
"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban." 

"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly.  
  
"That's right," said Sirius, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..."  
For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

"Sirius do you know what year it was that he was brought into Azkaban?" I asked pulling out parchment and a quill. 

"I tried my hardest to keep track of time but I can't promise you it's completely accurate." Sirius warned, "I think it was 1981." 

"1981?! Sirius you're sure??" I questioned him. 

"Yes? What's wrong with that date?" He asked. 

"Okay so since you told Harry about Karkaroff I've been doing some serious researching of everything I could find about him and Moody." I explained, "Karkaroff was tried in 1981, they released him after he gave up the names of other death eaters. If Mr. Crouch's son was put into Azkaban the same year there's the posibility that Karkaroff gave his name and recently Karkaroff has been worried, so what if Mr. Crouch's son escaped Azkaban??" 

"That's quite the theory and it could make sense but it doesn't-" Sirius said. 

"Why not?" Hermione beat me to the question. 

"His son died a year after he was put into Azkaban." Sirius said duly. 

"He died?" I muttered.   
  
"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his sons body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."  
Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic...next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."  
There was a long silence.

This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry.  
  
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry told Sirius.  
  
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."

"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.  
  
"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius.  
  
"Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head.  
  
"Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."  
  
"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry, but Hermione broke in.  
  
"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -"  
  
"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -" 

"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?" Hermione sneered.   
  
"I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out-" Ron said. 

"No Ronald." I said firmly, "Snape is not some clever dark wizard fooling Dumbledore. You and Harry are always jumping to blame him just because it's convinient."  
  
"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly, we stopped bickering to listen.  
  
"I think they've got a point," said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron, Hermione, and me. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."  
Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.  
"Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse -he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

"I'm telling you he's not. He isn't bad." I huffed. 

"How can you be so sure?" Ron snapped at me. 

"Because anytime I need help he helps me!" I barked, "He told me in more detail what happened at Karkaroff's trial and even told me that I was right to be suspicious of Moody!" 

"You're suspicious of Moody? What for?" Sirius asked. 

"Sirius, if you saw the way he acts, speaks, and looks at us I have to believe you'd agree with me!" I exclaimed. 

"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron butted in.   
  
"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" said Harry quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."  
  
"He showed Snape something on his arm?" Sirius asked, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about. . . but if Karkaroff s genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers ..."  
Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration.  
"There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."  
  
"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron stubbornly.  
  
"Well," said Sirius slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though... he's a different matter ... is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not. . . what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?"  
Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron.

"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"  
  
"I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."  
  
"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry.  
  
"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic . . . maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long. ..."  
Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.  
"What's the time?"  
  
"It's half past three," said Hermione.  
  
"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen . . ."  
He looked particularly hard at Harry and me. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."  
  
"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows," Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him.

"I agree Harry shouldn't but I don't have a target on my back like he does...." I said. 

"I don't care . . . I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Padfoot, okay?"

"Fine but before we go..." I pulled the Robes and brush out of my bag, "They might be a bit big, I got them in Bill Weasley's size." 

"Thank you Ophelia, it'll be nice to finally have some clean clothes." Sirius took them from me and set them aside. He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," said Sirius, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transformed into the great black dog before we left the cave, and we walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of us to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. We made our way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts.  
  
"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as we walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care... It'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."  
  
"Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," said Hermione severely.  
  
"I don't know," said Ron. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career... Percy's really ambitious, you know..."

"No, he's not that ambitious. He'd never do that to family." I agreed with Hermione.   
We walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward us from the Great Hall.  
  
"Poor old Padfoot," said Ron, breathing deeply. "He must really like you. Harry... Imagine having to live off rats."


End file.
